


The Box

by its_elvish_for_two



Category: The Riyria Revelations - Michael J. Sullivan
Genre: Arguments, Bromance, Conflict, Friendship, Gen, Magic, Mind Control, Swordfighting, Theft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2020-03-07 20:26:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 22
Words: 56,860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18880630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/its_elvish_for_two/pseuds/its_elvish_for_two
Summary: After Royce takes a box meant for a knight, things start to fall apart between Hadrian and Royce. But they will have to work together because time is running out before the hunters become the hunted.





	1. Gold

**Author's Note:**

> Short story this time rather than a one-shot so we'll see how it goes!  
> Enjoy!

"No way, Royce."

"What do you mean, "no way"?"

"I've been in a lot of armies; I know what's possible and what isn't when it comes to combat."

"I promise you, it's true."

"You cannot catch an arrow that's about to hit you, Royce, it's impossible."

Hadrian and Royce were leading their horses down the bustling main street of a large town. It was a pleasant spring day, and although the grass was wet, the sky was clear and showed no chance of any more rain. The two thieves had been arguing for the past five minutes after Royce had casually mentioned he could catch an arrow.

"It is possible, and I can do it. You've seen me dodge arrows before," claimed Royce, stealing an apple from a stall with an inattentive vender.

"Dodging arrows might be possible, although it was probably a fluke, but catching them is ridiculous," said Hadrian, taking the apple off Royce and putting it back on the cart.

"One day I'll prove it to you, and you'll owe me ten gold," smirked Royce, taking a bite of the second apple he had stolen which Hadrian hadn't noticed.

"Fine. If by next Summersrule, you haven't proven it, I'll take that gold from you."

"Fine, you're on. I-"

Royce stopped and Hadrian followed his gaze to see a blood red carriage rolling down the street towards them. He and Royce were unique in having horses, as all the other traffic in the street was pedestrians, but the carriage was being pulled by four matching black velvet horses, with no driver. 

All of the town's people hastily moved out of the way, but the carriage wasn't out of control. The horses trotted into the square and stopped in front of the fountain.

Hadrian shared a look with Royce and they both pushed forwards to the front of the crowd so they could see what was happening.

The carriage was elaborately decorated, and clearly expensive. The detailing was done in gold, and the wheels and roof were black while the sides shone dark red. Hadrian tried to look in through the windows but they were covered by dark curtains pulled across inside.

No-one approached the carriage, except a young groom who took hold of the bridle of one of the horses, not that they needed to be held. They seemed to know that they were meant to stop in the square and they stood happily, resting their back feet and tossing their manes occasionally.

Royce nudged Hadrian in the side and Hadrian looked back at the door of the carriage to see it opening on the side facing away from them. Hadrian saw a buckled boot emerge gently onto the step, followed by another. They were small feet, and short legs too, as Hadrian watched the person reach the ground and walk around the carriage towards the crowd. 

People began muttering when they saw that the occupant of the carriage was no more than a young girl, dressed in boy's breeches and boots with her curly hair tied back on a pony tail. She carried a small, sturdy wooden box and studied the crowd without any apparent apprehension at the stir her arrival had caused. 

Looking around, she must have been searching for the most important looking person because when she spotted Hadrian and Royce with their horses, she approached them with a steady look. 

"Are you Sir Caelum?" she asked confidently, looking up at Hadrian.

"Err, no. Sorry," he said awkwardly, looking at Royce. 

"I am," said Royce quickly, putting on an air of nobility. "He's my guard. Do you have something for me?"

"From the Court, sire," said the girl, bowing deeply and then offering forwards the box. "The Master wishes me to ask when you will be returning."

"Not for a while, I have business to which I must attend first," said Royce flawlessly. "Was there anything else?"

"Actually, yes, sire, there was," nodded the page. "The Master asked me to inform you that he has sent Sir Oryn out to the west, to cover the watch of the outskirts, so he will not be in court by your return. Riders will be sent out to meet you as soon as you are safe within the borders again. Do you have any messages for the Master, sire?"

"Let him know that I may not be back from a while. That is the only message, thank you. You may go."

The girl bowed deeply again, nodded to Hadrian and climbed back into the carriage. As soon as the door was closed, the horses started up again and circled the fountain before trotting back the way they had came.

Once it was out of sight, everyone looked at Hadrian and Royce.

"Let's find somewhere to talk," suggested Hadrian. "Somewhere outside of town, or word will get around."

"Fair enough," shrugged Royce, and Hadrian led the way through the town and out of the Southern gate.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Hadrian demanded, once they were out of ear shot in the woods. 

"I was thinking that this was the perfect opportunity to earn some gold without doing a thing," replied Royce, holding up the wooden box. "It's pretty heavy, so it must have quite full." He tried the lid. "Locked though. Not that that's a problem."

"By Mar, Royce. This isn't ours. Sir Caelum, whoever he is, will be along some time, looking for his box and the message. We've just stolen from a knight."

"I didn't see you stopping me in the town," argued Royce, setting the box on the floor and getting out his lock picks. 

"Because I was too stunned by your stupidity. I can't believe she thought you were a knight, either."

Royce looked up from his work indignantly.

"What do you mean by that? I could be a knight if I wanted to."

"You've certainly got the arrogance," agreed Hadrian, crouching down beside Royce. He wouldn't admit it but he was curious to see how much was in the box. "But knights are supposed to be soldiers, and nobles at that. They don't dress in black with their hoods drawn up, stealing apples off carts. They have honour, allegedly. Some of them are admittedly lacking somewhat in that area."

"Got it," declared Royce, having ignored Hadrian completely. The lock clicked and the latch flicked open. "Time to count our fortune and settle in for the winter at The Rose and Th-"

Hadrian leant over for a better look at the contents that so shocked Royce, and then realised it wasn't the unexpected riches which had made him lost for words.

"For Maribor's sake, will I ever just get a nice, easy job?" Royce asked himself, pushing the box away and getting to his feet. Hadrian picked up the box instead and took out the contents.

It was the hilt from a broken sword. There was no particularly fancy decoration on it, nor was it an expensive metal. It was simply from a standard broad sword distributed to armies all over the country, but the blade had been snapped about four inches from the hilt, leaving uneven points. 

"Err, Royce?" said Hadrian tentatively, as he ran his finger over the broken blade and felt that it had been rounded smooth. 

"Yes, I know. It's not worth even trying to sell. I was an idiot. Everyone makes mistakes, let's move on."

"No, Royce. You don't understand. We're in a lot of trouble. More than if the box had been filled with diamonds."

"What do you mean?" demanded Royce, getting impatient as he mounted his horse.

"Have you ever been outside of the country?" 

"I've never had cause to. Why?"

"Because I have, and this-" Hadrian picked up the box and the sword handle. "-is a declaration of war. Like throwing down a glove, except it's like the king has personally summoned you to your death."

"So when I took the box…" said Royce slowly.

"You accepted your execution with complete good faith."

"By Mar! How long do we have?"

"I should think it would take the girl a week to get back with the message, and by what she said, we are expected to come to them. And your friend, Sir Oryn, is out on patrol. That was presumably Sir Caelum's strongest ally, and the only person who might have been able to appeal to the court for a pardon. They'll be expecting us to return soon."

"I told the girl we had other business and wouldn't be back for a while. How does that affect things?" asked Royce thoughtfully.

Hadrian considered it for a while, mounting his horse and starting down the road away from the town.

"Well, the general rule as far as I am aware is that you are given a month to appear at your execution."

"Well, at least that gives us time."

"But…" continued Hadrian. "When this happened the last time, a lot of people kept complaining about the time allowed. I think, and I couldn't always translate, that they were saying that a month was too long but others were arguing that that was the way the moon cycle was. The execution was accepted on the day of a new moon, and the final day of allowed time was also a new moon. And people were definitely mentioning this fact a lot."

"So what you're trying to tell me in a ridiculously long winded way is that it might be that we only have until the new moon," sighed Royce. 

"Yes," said Hadrian. 

"So instead of a month, we might only have a week."

"Yes."

"And if we don't turn up in the allotted time?"

"We will be hunted down and slaughtered on the road, or in our sleep, or whenever they happen to find us, even if we are tending to the sick and elderly, or dining with the king. As soon as our time runs out, we are considered cowards for not turning up, and we will be painfully and brutally murdered in the worst way they can think of."

"Thank you for such a descriptive answer," said Royce sarcastically. "You could have just said they'll kill us anyway."

"I wanted to make sure you understood the sense of urgency as I do."

"I'd understand it a lot better if you were a better translator and had a clear idea of how long we have."

"I'm sorry. I wasn't the one that accepted the death sentence like a tray of cookies," argued Hadrian.

"You didn't spot that it was a death sentence, though, did you?"

"Neither did you!"

"Yes, but you knew what to look for," snapped Royce. 

"Look, it doesn't matter now. Now, we have more important things to consider."

"Like where to find the real Sir Caelum."


	2. Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things start to get prickly as the bickering between Royce and Hadrian goes from bad to worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second chapter out of I'm not sure how many.  
> Enjoy!

"At least I haven’t kill anyone today."

"You say that like it's some sort of achievement."

"Trust me, it was close at times."

"But we've barely seen anyone."

"Exactly, I've been stuck with you the whole day."

Hadrian and Royce were arguing again. It had been happening a lot the past two days, just over trivial little things that neither of them would normally take any notice of. But they were both getting on each others nerves and driving each other crazy.

"I don't know why Gwen told me to keep an eye on you," grumbled Royce. "If I look at you for much longer, I will actually end up killing you."

"Me? You're the one who started this whole thing by accepting that stupid box. If you hadn't been so desperate for a few bits of gold, we would be happily roaming the countryside, looking for decent, honest work."

"You do realise we're thieves, right? Honest isn't usually in the job description."

"You're the thief. Not me."

"Oh, please," scoffed Royce. "After all these years and you still think you're honourable. You may be the only person I've ever met that will do something for someone else and not look for something in return, but that doesn't make you better than me. It just make you stupid."

"At least I knew what the box and the sword handle meant. If it wasn't for me, you would have wandered the countryside and been murdered while you went for a piss."

"Instead, that's what's going to happen to you before long, because I've had just about enough of you being such a saint. In fact, go. Go on, get lost. Take your stupid box with you and leave. I can't stand you any longer."

Royce threw the box at Hadrian.

"Happily," shouted Harrison, as Royce cantered ahead. "I'll happily go because I've had just about enough of you as well. Blaming me for every little thing that goes wrong, when in truth, the only reason we're in this mess is because you're a greedy bastard who couldn't help putting on a little show and thinking he's clever to steal a death sentence from someone."

Royce pretended not to hear Hadrian, and he cantered further up the road before finding a rabbit path and cutting through the forest. He knew Hadrian's couldn't follow even if he wanted to because he wouldn't be able to find the path, the great, blind oaf that he was.

The longer Royce rode, even at a walk, the more exhausted he got. It was unwarranted for the distance he had travelled, and he shouldn't have suffered so much, but he felt utterly drained after only a few miles. 

He was practically falling asleep in the saddle when the sun first began to dip towards the horizon, and eventually he gave in and found somewhere to camp. He didn't bother with a fire, and almost before he had sorted out his horse and put some blankets down, he was asleep.

The next morning, Royce awoke early. The sun was just rising and the first birds were warming up their voices, annoyingly close to Royce's ear. He waved them away and sat up, confused as to why he couldn't hear Hadrian snoring. Then he remembered the fight they had had the day before. 

"He was being unreasonable and idiotic," Royce tried to tell himself as he had breakfast. But he wasn't convincing himself. He couldn't understand how the argument had escalated so quickly. The two of them often bickered, but it never got serious, or led to much enmity. It had been a stupid thing to fight about, and they had both said things they didn't mean. Royce wasn't usually one for regret, but he did wish he hadn't been so hasty in sending Hadrian away, so he decided to look for him and sort things out.

He packed up his camp and rode back the way he had come, feeling much more lively and making the journey in half the time, urging his horse on through the wider parts of the path. 

It wasn't hard for Royce to find the tracks Hadrian had left, and Royce was catching up to him before lunchtime. He was confident that Hadrian would also see the error of his ways, and that they would agree to avoid assigning blame and get on with finding Sir Caelum. 

So Royce was surprised when Hadrian pulled a sword on him as he entered the clearing where Hadrian had stopped for lunch.

"Can I just say it's lovely to see you again, too," said Royce, putting his hands up to show Hadrian he was not armed. But Hadrian didn't lower his blade even when he could see clearly who it was.

"What are you doing here?" Hadrian demanded, moving the tip of his broad sword closer to Royce's neck.

"I came to see if you were over our petty argument from yesterday, but I would assume the answer was no, considering the welcome I've received," said Royce dryly.

"You aren't here to apologise, so why have you really come?" asked Hadrian, forcing Royce back a step. 

"I didn't say I was here to apologise," Royce scowled, fully aware that he could comfortably dodge Hadrian's sword if he had to. But he was more concerned that it was still threatening him. He looked at Hadrian's eyes and saw that he looked drunk, but they had had no alcohol with them, and they had not passed a village or travelling salesman since splitting up. There was no way Hadrian could have could have gotten drunk, so why did he look like he was having trouble focussing, and his hand was shaking.

"Hadrian, are you alright?" asked Royce. "You don't look great."

"I've had enough of your insults, now go," Hadrian shouted. "Go on, get out of here. You made up your mind yesterday, so I suggest we continue to go our separate ways."

"Alright, but I'm not leaving without the box," said Royce, pointing to the wooden container with the sword hilt inside. He regretted throwing it at Hadrian the previous day and wanted it back in his possession in order to learn more about it.

"Take it, I don't care," shrugged Hadrian, pulling his sword back enough for Royce to bend down and pick up his prize. "At least then the soldiers will know who they should be hunting. Now get out of here before I change my mind."

Royce grabbed the box and got back on his horse. 

"Just so you know, I'm still going to be looking for Sir Caelum to give him back the great gift we stole, so if that's your plan too, we'll be seeing each other whether you like it or not," he said, but pulled his horse backwards when he saw Hadrian reach for the long blade on his back. "Alright, it was just a warning. But if you wouldn't mind, let me know if you find him. We only have four more days."

And with that Royce turned back onto the path and rode off.

His talk with Hadrian had put him into a bad mood again, and he pulled his hood down low, urging his horse on where the ground permitted it. Why did Hadrian have to be such a stubborn git? He always was. He always thought he knew best, but he was just young and stupid and would soon get himself killed without Royce looking after him.

"Let him go off and realise how much of an idiot he is," Royce muttered to himself, clutching the box in one hand. "I don't need him to help me find a knight. I'm glad he said he didn't want to come. He would just get in the way. I managed the Crown Tower job without him, so I'm sure I can hunt down some idiot noble who is stupid enough to fall out with his own king."

Royce continued to mutter angrily to himself as he rode deeper into the forest.

*

Hadrian sheathed his sword once he was sure Royce was gone, and angrily began to bundle his camp things together, shoving them into his bag. A heaviness was weighing on him as he set off, as though he was suffering from a beating acquired several days before. But no such fight had occurred, so Hadrian tried to ignore the feeling and pushed on through the tiredness. 

But by mid-afternoon, having taken a different route to Royce but headed in the same general direction, Hadrian was so exhausted that when he stopped to stretch his legs and give his horse a rest, he fell asleep against the tree he was sitting by. 

He woke up with a start, and was alarmed to see that the sun was beginning to approach the tops of the trees. He had slept for several hours, rather than the several minutes he had thought. Hastily, he collected his reins and set off once more to make up some of the distance he had lost, before finding somewhere to send the night. 

Refreshed, Hadrian began to feel guilty about how he had treated Royce when he had come to reconcile their argument. He knew how unusual it was for Royce to apologise - it hadn't quite happened, but it was as close as Royce ever got - and Hadrian couldn't recall why he had dismissed him so harshly. 

It was true that Royce had gotten them into this mess, with the threat of an army hunting them down looming closer by the day, but it was no different to when Hadrian usually got them in trouble, or when trouble found them by no-one's fault. Royce might give him a hard time for a while, but he didn't mean it harshly, and it never resulted in such a serious falling out. 

Concerned about his own behaviour, Hadrian thought of little else until he made camp as the sky grew dark. Even though he knew the knights wouldn't have started their hunt yet, and wouldn't have any reason to look for him anyway, Hadrian made a thorough check of the surrounding woodland before settling down and making a fire. 

But although he was sure there were no knights or soldiers in the undergrowth, he hadn't thought to check for more careful enemies, with experience in remaining unseen, and experience in silent killings.

Small men, dressed in black cloaks and armed with elven daggers…


	3. Assassins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce has always been good at winning arguments but arguing with voices in his head is another matter. Hadrian is very confused by it all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the /italics/ - I couldn't work out any other way to do them!  
> Hope you enjoy the third chapter.  
> Comments appreciated!

It didn't take Hadrian long to fall asleep, despite his obvious uneasiness, and soon his infuriating snores filled the clearing. It wouldn't take much skill in tracking to find him if someone was looking, and it just so happened that someone was. 

Royce waited in the tree until he was sure Hadrian was fully asleep before silently climbing down. He was disappointed in Hadrian's obliviousness throughout his search, and made a mental note to never leave him on sentry duty alone. 

Not that there would be much need for it anymore.

Royce had made camp about half a mile away under a rocky outcrop and had left all of his possessions hidden, only taking Alverstone with him. He had noticed the sudden tiredness come over him again while he had been waiting in the tree, but he pushed it back, convincing himself that he could sleep well once he had finished the job. 

Creeping through the trees like a shadow, Royce approached the clearing from behind Hadrian. The closer he got, the more desperately sleep tugged at him, and the harder he had to fight the desire to lie down and rest. Concern at this feeling was the only thing that spurred Royce on, worried that he was coming down with some dangerous disease which might prevent him from completing his task if he hesitated. 

He drew his dagger and crept closer to Hadrian's sleeping form, smiling at how simple it was going to be to kill his friend. Hadrian had gotten on the wrong side of Royce one too many times, and he was going to pay for it. But as Royce's mind began to blur, mist obscured his thoughts like clouds across the sun, and he lost his train of thought.

"Kill Hadrian," he told himself, positioning Alverstone. "Then you can sleep."

/But why are you killing him?/ argued another voice in his head. One that sounded remarkably like Gwen. /Sleep now and realise what you are doing. You don't really want to kill Hadrian./

"But he's betrayed me too many times," Royce insisted to the imaginary Gwen, forcing himself to keep his eyes open. "If he had told me about the meaning of the box before I had taken it, none of this would have happened. He tricked me."

/Did he? Or did he just make a mistake?/

"Well, then, it will be his last mistake, aside from failing in his check of the area," panted Royce, falling to his knees and feeling his eyes closing.

/You've made more mistakes than him, and he never once let you down. He never once betrayed you and he never once tried to take out his anger on you,/ said Gwen's voice.

"But this morning, in the clearing," said Royce, using every last ounce of energy left to keep hold of the dagger at Hadrian's throat. 

/Do you think he was himself? Do you think that was really Hadrian? Or do you think the same thing that is happening to you now was happening to him?/

"What's happening to me?" Royce slurred, unable to grip Alverstone any longer. It dropped from his hand as he finally lost the battle with sleep and felt himself collapse sideways onto the grass.

/Excellent question,/ Royce heard the voice say, before he passed out. Except it didn't sound much like Gwen anymore. He couldn't place it, but he had a feeling it was the only other person he trusted. Someone who would risk their life for him, and someone who had done just that simply by being friends with him.

But Royce couldn't quite think of their name before darkness consumed him. 

*

Being woken up in the dead of night with a dagger at your throat, and knowing the sight of Royce sneering down at you is the last thing you will ever see is disconcerting. 

Being woken up in the dead of night with a dagger dropped harmlessly on your chest, and seeing Royce about to pass out next to you is almost more so.

Hadrian scrambled to his feet and instinctively grabbed his sword, but it was quickly obvious that it wasn't needed. Royce had been kneeling by his side, apparently in the clutches of a nightmare, and Hadrian heard him mutter in what Hadrian would not be called mad to think was fear.

"What's happening to me?"

"Excellent question," said Hadrian, putting down his sword and kneeling in front of Royce. "Buddy? You with me?"

But Royce didn't reply, just let his head drop forwards as he fell sideways onto the grass in what appeared to be a dead faint.

"By Mar, Royce, you like to make an entrance, don't you?" Hadrian muttered, lying Royce carefully on his blanket and covering him to keep him warm. Hadrian studied Alverstone for a while, before deciding it was probably best to remove it from Royce's reach in case he relapsed into whatever fit of madness had inclined him to hold it to Hadrian's throat in the first place. 

Hadrian didn't dare fall asleep again for fear of waking up in such a situation, or indeed, not waking up at all, so he relit the fire which had burnt down, and didn't take his eyes off Royce the entire time his friend slept.

Royce didn't move until close to sunrise. Hadrian watched warily as the thief stirred and opened his eyes, appearing confused at where he was.

"What's going on?" he demanded, when he spotted Hadrian for the first time.

"Good morning to you, too," said Hadrian. "I was hoping you might be able to explain. Allow me to jog your memory. I woke up to what I can only assume was my near murder by my best friend since you appeared to have had your dagger to my neck. I can't imagine your intentions were friendly."

Royce swore, sitting up and rubbing his head.

"I think… I think I came to kill you," he admitted.

"That was the general impression I got as well," said Hadrian. "Did you have any particular reason in mind?"

Royce seemed to think deeply about this before replying, "Not a very good one."

"How come you didn't go through with it?" Hadrian asked. "Not that I'm complaining, but I don't think it was my witty counter points which changed your mind."

"Gwen. At least, it sounded like Gwen. She convinced me that you weren't that bad, all things considered."

"Seriously, Royce. I know we had an argument, but what the hell happened?"

Royce tried to explain the overwhelming desire to kill Hadrian for betraying him and letting him accept the box, but even Royce could tell his arguments were weak.

"It was like it was the most important thing in the world," said Royce. "I was so tired, and I didn't think I could even walk towards the end, but something was forcing me to go up to you and slit your throat. I've never felt like that before, not even back in Colnora during the Year of Fear. This was different. And then Gwen's voice started speaking to me, and made me stop just long enough for sleep to get me, I guess. I… I'm sorry."

"You definitely aren't yourself," said Hadrian, trying to smile. "An apology? What next?"

"Don't," frowned Royce. "It really did feel like some sort of madness had a hold of me."

"It doesn't sound like a sickness. It sounds like magic," said Hadrian. "Strong magic. The sort I have only heard of outside of the country."

"You think it's related to the death sentence?" asked Royce.

"If not, it's a worrying coincidence."

"But they can't have found us yet. For one thing, you said we had until the new moon, which is still three days away. For another, how could they have found us?"

"They always had a way of tracking the person who received the sentence," said Hadrian. "Some sort of spell was put on the box and it meant that the wizard who had placed the spell could find the person wherever they were."

Royce gave him a dark look.

"So you're telling me that the knights, with the help of this wizard, can track us anywhere if we have the box?"

"Yeah, why?"

Royce hit his forehead with the palm of his hand.

"So if you had mentioned this before, we could have just buried the box somewhere and not had to worry about anyone coming after us because they would be following the trail to the box while we got as far away as possible from it."

"Hang on, I'm not that much of an idiot," said Hadrian defensively.

"Really? Do explain,' said Royce sarcastically, but with none of the malice which had been in their previous arguments. This was more like the usual Royce disapproval.

"The magic gets transferred to the person who takes the box, so that even if they get rid of it, they can still be tracked."

Royce looked thoughtful for a while, and Hadrian took the opportunity to make breakfast.

"Does the magic stay on the box even once it's passed onto the person?" Royce asked eventually.

"I guess so," shrugged Hadrian. "Else the trace would just be kept on the girl who handed over the box in the first place. They wouldn't want to be chasing the wrong person because too many people handled the box before the intended recipient."

"Then we'll do exactly that. We'll get as many people to touch the box as possible so that there are dozens of trails to follow, which will give us time to find Sir Caelum."

Royce seemed pleased with his plan, but Hadrian wasn't so sure. Royce noticed.

"What?" he asked in a bored voice. 

Hadrian grimaced.

"It's just that whoever else touches the box will also be hunted, which means we'd be putting people in danger."

Royce rolled his eyes.

"Hadrian, we need as much time as possible to find the real Sir Caelum and get him to sort his own problems out. He needs time to get back to his country so that the knights don't start hunting us down and killing us for being cowards. If that means sending a few people off with targets on their backs, then so be it. It's not going to sit on my conscience and I suggest you don't let it sit on yours."

"You don't have a conscience, Royce," sighed Hadrian, but annoyingly, he could see Royce's point. They needed to find Sir Caelum and send him back to his court to face his punishment.

"Fine, you can find some corrupt guards or some ugly little goblins and make them targets if it makes you feel better. I don't care who you choose, but we are choosing someone and we are choosing fast. Come on, we should head off."

"Royce, where exactly are we going?"

Royce stopped and looked back at Hadrian.

"What do you mean?" he scowled. "We're finding Sir Caelum."

"Yes, but where exactly are we going?"

Royce looked down the track one way, then the other, then looked back at Hadrian.

"I don't know, I was just going the same way as you. Where were you going?"

"No idea, I was just annoyed with you, so I stormed off."

"Well, I know the most sensible place to look for the knight, but you're not going to like it."

"Go on," resigned Hadrian.

"The town we were in when the carriage turned up. The girl was obviously expecting Sir Caelum to be there, so it makes sense that we should look there too. Even if he isn't there anymore, he must have gone for a reason, so someone must know something that would help us."

"Damn it, I hate it when you say something smart and inconvenient," sighed Hadrian. "That was three days ride back, that won't give us much time to find him."

"We were riding slowly, and you missed every single short cut on your way here," said Royce. "We can make it back in half the time, if you follow me and we push the horses a little. But we need to go via my camp, it's not far."

"You really need to work on your scouting, by the way," Royce told Hadrian as they cut through the woods to find Royce's camp. "I was hiding in a tree literally feet from your clearing and you completely missed me."

"Well, I was only really looking for knights, and I didn't think they would be hiding in trees in their armour," argued Hadrian.

"No, but they might have sent assassins who would be. Have I taught you nothing?"

"Only bad habits," smiled Hadrian.


	4. Snoring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian and Royce start to get suspicious of their odd behaviour and try to find ways to beat it, but it isn't as easy as they had hoped.

"What did you mean when you said it was magic and not a sickness that made me almost kill you?" asked Royce.

He and Hadrian were standing around the wooden box containing the broken sword hilt. They had packed up all of their camping gear and were prepared to leave, except for the box.

It was lying in the dirt under the rocky outcrop where Royce had left it the previous evening, and although it looked perfectly harmless, neither of them wanted to pick it up.

"Well, I don't really know," admitted Hadrian. "I'm not exactly well versed in the art of magic."

"I would imagine it was much too subtle for someone like you," smirked Royce. "You just swing around a big piece of metal. You wouldn't know subtlety if it danced in front of you dressed in one of Albert's ridiculous hats."

"Alright, no need to rub it in, thank you. I'm all you've got to work with right now, so I wouldn't mock me too much. You don't know much about magic either."

"More than you."

Hadrian raised his eyebrows.

"Oh, really?" he asked, folding his arms and waiting. "Enlighten me, then, on the sorcery involved with this box."

"Alright, you've made your point," grumbled Royce. He tentatively nudged the box with his toe, like he was afraid it would explode. "Do you know anything that might explain why I tried to kill you last night?"

Hadrian thought about it carefully, also prodding the box with his foot, kicking open the lid.

"Well, it might be that the magic is actually on the sword," he said, looking at the broken hilt. "That way, the girl who delivered it wouldn't get any of the magic on her. Only the person who picked up the hilt would, namely the person being summoned."

"Well, I didn't touch the sword, only the box," Royce pointed out. "So that doesn't make sense. You didn't have the urge to kill me."

"Well…" grimaced Hadrian, squirming a little as he remembered how he had felt when Royce had seeked him out to reconcile. "Yesterday morning, I was quite tempted, I have to admit. And I don't mean like when you annoy me on a daily basis. I was genuinely considering taking a quick step forwards and sticking the pointy end of my sword into your chest."

"Really? And I thought we were friends," scowled Royce, looking hurt. 

"At least it would have been quick," Hadrian argued. "You would barely have had time to feel it. Unlike slitting my throat and letting me drown in my own blood. No friendly considerations there. I would have gone just like any of your other victims."

"It's irrelevant now, anyway," said Royce, waving it away. "Neither of us actually killed the other. Besides, you could never have been quick enough to kill me anyway."

"Oh, really?" asked Hadrian with a smile. "You don't think I could out-manoeuvre you in a fight?"

"Never. I've already told you - my reactions are good enough to catch an arrow in mid-flight, and you aren't faster than an arrow."

"We'll see," said Hadrian, feeling confident that Royce was bluffing. 

"Ten gold says we will," agreed Royce. "But none of this helps us with what to do with the box. We can't just leave it here because we need to give it to Sir Caelum, if we find him."

"When we find him," Hadrian corrected.

"Stupid 'glass half full' idiot," Royce muttered before continuing. "But if it is somehow affecting our minds, we don't exactly want to be touching it. We'll just throw it in one of the saddle bags and agree not to touch it."

Using a couple of rags, Royce and Hadrian managed to get the box in one of the bags and close the flap without touching it.

"Now, let's go and find this stupid knight and give him back his death sentence," said Royce. "And on the way let's plant this magic on some gullible idiots-"

"You mean corrupt guards and ugly little goblins," corrected Hadrian.

"Fine, corrupt guards and ugly little goblins," grumbled Royce, "who will lead the soldiers on a wild goose chase just long enough for Sir Caelum to answer his summons."

They began to ride back in the direction that had come from the town. They had spent four days riding away from the place, but they hoped to only take two on the way back, taking short cuts and side roads, and not being restricted by mysterious bouts of tiredness.

"Did you feel odd after getting away from the box?" Hadrian asked, as they navigated low branches and winding paths through the woods.

"Odd how?" asked Royce from ahead.

"Drunk, but not in a pleasant way."

"You looked drunk when you had the box," said Royce. "Yesterday morning before I took it off you."

"Ok, then, hung over?"

Royce was silent for a while as they rode.

"I suppose," he admitted eventually. "I was exhausted. And aching."

"Like you'd been beaten?" asked Hadrian. 

"Exactly. And as much as I tried, I couldn't be too annoyed with you, which was when I suspected something was wrong."

Hadrian grinned.

"You're such a charmer," he smiled, following Royce as he pushed his horse into a canter on an open bit of road. "You know, I only stick around for your delightful personality."

He couldn't be sure since Royce had his hood up and his back to him, but Hadrian thought he might have made Royce smile a little.

"Come on, idiot. We've got a knight to find."

"Wouldn't it be easier to do once it gets dark?" joked Hadrian. Royce turned slowly around and left Hadrian with no doubt he wasn't smiling now. 

"You know, when it's dark. Night. Knight. No?"

Royce turned slowly to face the front again, but not without shooting Hadrian a familiar look.

"Right, yeah. No talking when we're riding."

"And?"

"And definitely no attempts at humour while we're riding."

*

Unfortunately, the good mood did not last long. 

The two thieves made good ground taking Royce's short cuts and riding until it began to get dark. But they couldn't push the horses too hard, and eventually stopped about halfway back to the town.

It was remote countryside with no inns or buildings of any kind nearby, so Hadrian and Royce took out their pitch-covered sheets and lay them on the ground. Royce saw to the horses while Hadrian started a fire and began supper. Royce made sure to take care of the search of the surroundings.

They had been silent since Royce's request, but they were used to working together, so they didn't need to talk in order to get the camp set up. However, the silence had grown stale and icy the longer they rode. 

They ate supper without a word, only sharing glares and scowls between them. Hadrian got irritated by Royce's black mood and turned in early, but this didn't help because it meant he began to snore, and Royce couldn't stand it. 

'For Maribor's sake!' Royce finally shouted, when he had tried rolling Hadrian onto his side, on his back, on his front, even used his usual trick of putting a stone underneath his bedroll. Nothing was having any effect, and Hadrian's snores were drilling right into Royce's head. 

Royce grabbed his water skin and emptied the contents over Hadrian's head. Hadrian spluttered awake, cursing and reaching for his spadone blade before realising it was Royce.

'What was that for?' he demanded, dragging his sopping hair out of his eye.

'You and your bloody snoring. I can't take it anymore,' snarled Royce, wringing the empty water skin in his hands. He hoped it was clear to Hadrian that what Royce really wanted to do was wring Hadrian's neck. 

'Royce, calm down,' said Hadrian. 'If I was snoring you could have just nudged me awake gently. Besides, I thought you'd be used to it by now.'

'I am used to it. Too used to it. I've had about enough of travelling with you. These past few days have made me realise what a mistake I made listening to Arcadius and letting you tag along as my partner. I'm sick of it, and this is the last straw, so I suggest you pack your stuff and clear out of here so I can get a decent night of sleep.'

Royce glared at Hadrian, whose face showed his surprise, and mild alarm.

'Royce, I was just snoring, there's no need to over-react. I'm sorry I kept you awake. I'll let you go to sleep first, and then my snoring won't disturb you.'

Royce shook his head, pacing up and down and fiddling with the handle of Alverstone, which Hadrian had returned to him that morning.

'No, you don't get it. This is the final straw. It's not just the snoring. I never had a partner before, and I was stupid to change my mind on the subject. I can't trust anyone, and I certainly don't trust you. So get out of here.'

Royce drew Alverstone and used it to point down the track.

'What about Gwen?' asked Hadrian. 'Are you saying you can't trust her?'

This was the last thing Royce had been expecting Hadrian to say, and it made him falter. Hadrian took advantage and continued, getting to his feet.

'You trust Gwen, and Gwen trusts me. She's always the one that talks sense into you, and I'm sure if she was here right now, she'd be telling you to calm down. Sleep now and think about what you're doing. You don't want me to leave. '

Hadrian had walked over to their saddle bags and found the one containing the box. He picked it up and walked into the woods with it.

Royce watched his movements through the dark and saw him place the bag down inside a rotten log, before returning.

'Come on, buddy,' said Hadrian, approaching Royce even though he was still wielding his dagger. 'I'm tired, you're tired - let's just get some sleep and forget all this.'

'You think you can just ignore me?' demanded Royce, his voice rising even as he slumped. 'I told you to leave. Now.'

'I'll leave in the morning, it's dark now, and I'm too tired,' said Hadrian. 'Come on.'

Hadrian eased the dagger out of Royce's hand and put an arm around his friend's shoulder. Royce continued to protest loudly, ordering Hadrian to leave, but his strength was failing just like it had in the clearing the previous evening before he could kill Hadrian.

He sank to his knees on his bedroll and Hadrian pushed him to lie down, pulling a blanket over him.

'I don't need a blanket,' slurred Royce, as his eyes grew heavy. 'I am the night.'

'No more of this, Royce. You claiming to be a knight is how we got into this mess in the first place.'

'Not a knight. The night. I am the night. I don't need protection from it. I don't need a blanket.'

Royce tried to shrug it off, but his arms were numb, and he only managed to move the blanket a few inches. Hadrian readjusted it.

'If you say so, bud. Now get some sleep and we'll discuss me leaving in the morning.'


	5. Arrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce and Hadrian split up to see if they can make it back to the town without killing each other. Royce meets a spot of bother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight delay in posting. May be another delay before the next one too, but will post.

Royce clutched his head as he groaned awake, sitting up and then wishing he hadn't.

"Morning, beautiful," smirked Hadrian, where he was strapping his swords onto his saddle.

"I feel like shit, what happened?" Royce muttered, lying back down again as his head spun.

"Let's just say you're suffering from another hangover," said Hadrian, handing Royce a water skin. He drank gratefully from it, but it didn't stay down long.

"Maybe we should stay here a little longer," Hadrian suggested, rubbing Royce's back as he threw up. "We have a few days left, we can afford to stay here another day before-"

"No," Royce interrupted Hadrian. He straightened up slowly and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "We leave now."

"Royce, you're in no fit state to go anywhere," Hadrian argued. 

Royce felt Hadrian probably had a point. He felt weak and sick and wanted more than anything just to climb into a nice comfy bed, preferably alongside Gwen, and fall asleep for about twenty years. But that wasn't an option, and it wouldn't help him to imagine it.

"The quicker we get to town, the quicker we can find this bloody knight, and the quicker I can get back to normal. I don't understand why I'm so affected by it, and you aren't. That's if it is the box, and I'm not just being poisoned, or something."

"It is," said Hadrian. "I moved it away and you started to calm down. You didn't even touch it this time, though. Maybe the magic is getting stronger."

"In that case, why aren't you affected by it? Maybe… maybe it's because I'm a Mir," said Royce slowly, frowning.

"Really? You think it's stronger if you have elven blood? Why would they do that?"

"It might not have been an intentional function. Or maybe these people just don't like elves. They wouldn't be the first."

"In any case, I think I'll keep it as far away from you as possible," Hadrian said, collecting the box from the trees, still wrapped up in its saddlebag. "I don't want to wake up one morning finding you have actually succeeded in stabbing me. We'll get to the town and then find somewhere safe to put it away from you."

"What about until then?" Royce asked, unconsciously backing away from Hadrian's horse as Hadrian attached the saddle bag.

"We ride hard. I wasn't too bad yesterday so I'll just think happy thoughts until we get to the town. Maybe you should keep your distance."

"I wasn't that close yesterday, and yet I could feel the increased urge to kill you by about noon."

Hadrian thought about it as he got on his horse.

"Well, I won't be able to find all the short cuts you do, but I can probably make it back to the town by late this evening. You ride ahead and stay well away. Get to the town, find somewhere to spend the night, and see if you can find anyone who knows Sir Caelum or where he went. I'll join you once I've found somewhere near the town to hide the box."

"Remember to trick people into holding the box so that we can spread the magic and get us more time."

"I don't think I'm going to meet any corrupt guards or ugly goblins on my travels."

Royce glared at him as he swung himself into the saddle.

"Then find someone else."

And with that, Royce kicked his horse and galloped off down the track.

As Hadrian had suggested, Royce rode hard, taking short cuts and hidden paths so that he could keep a good distance from Hadrian and the box. The sun, which had been out earlier that morning, began to disappear behind increasing cloud, and as it approached mid afternoon, the first few drops of rain began to fall. The dirt tracks grew slowly more claggy and dangerous, and Royce had to slow down to avoid his horse breaking a leg in the mud. 

He pressed on along a narrow rabbit path until he emerged onto a stone road, where he could thankfully pick up the pace on the solid footing. The woods ran closely alongside the road, and the undergrowth was thick and tangled, making it hard to see into the trees. Royce was uncomfortably aware of how perfect a place it was for an ambush, so when a crossbow bolt came whizzing out of the trees and hit the saddle, he wasn't all that surprised. 

Drawing Alverstone even as he urged his horse on, Royce heard the bandits in the trees, running through the brush. Admittedly, they had been good, probably professional assassins, not just a group of clumsy bandits. He hadn't heard any sign of people waiting for him, and he had been listening, so clearly these people were used to sitting perfectly still for hours. It was a harder skill to master than it sounded, and these assassins - Royce judged six - were excellent at it. 

Rounding a corner, Royce had to rein his horse in sharply to avoid crashing into the log blocking the path. If it had just been the log, he could have jumped it. His horse was capable of clearing fairly large obstacles. But the log was covered with wooden stakes, angled towards him and waiting to skewer his horse if it even minutely misjudged the jump. It wasn't a risk he was willing to take, and they were too closely positioned for him to climb over himself.

These guys really knew what they were doing.

"You're a little early, aren't you?" he shouted to the trees, pulling his horse around and spotting two men coming towards him in leather armour and carrying huge war swords. "At least three days early by my reckoning."

The men didn't say anything, just continued their approach slowly.

"See, now, if you wanted me dead, you would have had the guy with the cross bow shoot me already. So why don't we stop all this nonsense and act like mildly civilised gentlemen. You can move your tree out of the way, and I can carry on my merry way without having to take the time and effort to kill you. This is a new tunic, and I'd rather not get it dirty yet."

The men with the swords carried on walking, and were joined by two more men on either side appearing from the trees. One man on the right had the cross bow, and one on the left had a short bow. The other two had short swords, and the barricade behind him had big pointy sticks. He was surrounded.

"Well, if you aren't here to kill me, would you mind explaining why you have gone to such an effort to stop me?" asked Royce, jumping down from the saddle. The finger of the man with the cross bow twitched dangerously, but the bolt remained in place.

"It's just that I like to know the motive of the men I kill. I don't care what it is, it makes no difference to me, but I hate not knowing."

"We know you're rich," said the man beside the archer. He was short and angry looking, and Royce vaguely recognised him as the fruit vender from whom he had stolen the apple whilst in the town. He had a feeling that wasn't the cause of this elaborate trap.

"I'm rich? Well, that's certainly news to me. Have you come to deliver my fortune? If you have, I might spare your lives," Royce grinned threateningly.

"We saw you in the square four days ago," said the fruit vender. "We know exactly who you are, Sir Caelum. Put down your weapon, or I will have you shot. Where's your body guard?"

Royce rolled his eyes. Pretending to be a knight caused a lot more problems than he had predicted. At least Hadrian wasn't there to say 'I told you so.' 

"Believe me, I don't need a body guard to protect me from a bunch of half wit bandits," said Royce, obediently throwing down his dagger when he saw the crossbowman's finger twitch again.

"Really? Because I think we've done a pretty good job of setting a nice trap for you. There are six of us and only one of you. I don't like your odds," sneered the vender. 

"First of all, it's six to two, I have my horse," said Royce, patting his animal's neck. "Secondly, if you had any more than three brain cells between the six of you, you would have hit me on your first shot when I was taken by surprise, giving me a non-lethal injury, like a bolt in the arm, or an arrow in the leg. That way, you slow me down enough to overpower me without losing every one of your men, just a couple. Then you could have threatened me and tortured me to make me tell you where I keep my money, at which point I could have sorely disappointed you by pointing out that I'm not a knight. Then, frustrated and embarrassed, you, the leader, could have slit my throat and ended this sorry mess without a scratch."

/What the hell is wrong with me?/ thought Royce, as he said all of this. /I'm turning into Hadrian; telling bandits how to kill me more effectively./

The vender seemed to have had the same idea. He shouted at his archer friend, and the man released a long, thick arrow in the very precise direction of Royce's chest.

Except that by the time it got there, Royce's chest was no longer where it had been less than a second ago. 

His hand closed around the shaft of the arrow and Royce gripped it firmly as he continued his movement backwards behind his horse and towards the barricade.

"Screw you, Hadrian," cursed Royce as the swordsmen charged at him. "You had to miss it, didn't you? You're never going to believe me."

As the first swordsman swung at him, Royce ducked under the blade and rammed the arrow into the man's throat. His momentum carried his sword around to hit his friend in the chest, and the two of them went down in beautiful synchronicity. 

Using his horse to protect himself, Royce dodged a bolt and ripped the arrow from the first man's throat to jam it into the next one's chest, burying it through the leather armour and into his heart. He went down too, leaving the vender and the two men with the ranged weapons. They were the most dangerous, and Royce wanted to take them out quickly, especially when an arrow pierced the saddle of his horse, four inches from landing in Royce's face as he peered over the horse's back. 

The animal wanted to run, and it reared and pulled at the reins when the arrow struck its saddle, but Royce held tight to it, and pushed towards the crossbowman. 

The man fired again, but Royce dived into a roll, letting go of the reins and picking up Alverstone as he scrambled to his feet, feeling the familiar weight of the blade in his hand. He used his momentum to leap towards the man who, not having had chance to reload, stood defenceless. Panicked, he struck out with the heavy butt of the weapon, and managed to catch Royce on the shoulder, but it did nothing to prevent his doom. 

As his arm went numb from the hit, Royce dropped his dagger into his left hand and drew it across the man's neck, leaving him choking and spluttering on the floor. 

Now that one of his sides was clear, Royce grabbed his horse, who was escaping into the woods, and dragged it with him into the trees to skirt around the barricade. 

"Goodbye, gentlemen," he called, leaping into the saddle at a canter once he was back on the main road. "It's been a pleasure, I needed to blow off a bit of steam. Haven't killed anyone in a few days."

He heard the whistle of another arrow and considered trying to catch it again, just to piss off the archer even more, but he didn't want to push his luck. So he turned and hit it aside with Alverstone instead, sending it flying harmlessly to one side.

"I'll miss you too," he shouted back with a sneer, and galloped off down the road.

/At least Hadrian owes me ten gold,/ Royce thought smugly.


	6. Travelling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce and Hadrian make progress with their search but it doesn't go exactly as Hadrian planned, when he comes within range of an old enemy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight delay, sorry. But slightly longer chapter, too. Enjoy!

"It doesn't count, Royce."

Hadrian and Royce met late that night, when Hadrian finally got back to the town after having hidden the box somewhere safe. They were now in the room that Royce had paid for in the tavern, and before Hadrian had been able to say anything, Royce had interrupted and told him to pay up.

"What do you mean, it doesn't count?" asked Royce in disbelief, his feet up on the bed post as he lounged back, revelling in the fact that he didn't feel any more murderous than usual.

"I'm not giving you ten gold," smiled Hadrian, taking off his boots and swords and sitting down on the other bed. 

"I caught an arrow that some grumpy bastard shot a me. I deserve something for my efforts."

"The bet was that you had to /prove/ you could catch an arrow that's about to hit you," Hadrian reminded him smugly. "Telling me about it doesn't count as proving it. I need to see it."

"I suppose you'll want to be the one shooting at me, as well," grumbled Royce.

"Well, if you're offering," Hadrian smirked. "But back to the important stuff - did you find anyone who knows about Sir Caelum?"

"It was harder than I expected," Royce admitted, still sulking. "It turns out quite a few people were in the square the day we took the box-"

"The day you took the box."

"Whatever. The point is, a lot of people saw me claim I was Sir Caelum, so they were very confused when I started asking them if they knew who he was."

"I'm assuming you told them you weren't a knight?"

"Obviously, but that just made me a thief, and no-one really liked that much, so there was a lot of door-slamming in my face. One woman tried to hit me with a broom."

"So we have no idea where Sir Caelum is," Hadrian sighed, lying back and staring at the ceiling. 

"Did I say that?"

Royce smiled as Hadrian sat up again.

"You mean, you found him?"

"Hold your horses. I don't know where he is but I know where he might be. When I realised that no-one in this Maribor-foresaken town appreciates the talent of thieves, I realised that was probably because they have issues with other criminals, so I went and found them."

"And they just welcomed you into their secret lair with open arms?" asked Hadrian sceptically.

"It's my charm. No, they didn't invite me to their secret lair. You do realise not all criminal gangs have secret lairs? Admittedly, these ones did, and I found it. They were pissed at first, but they were willing to let me enter once they found out who I was. It seems The Crimson Hand teach their new members criminal history, so everyone was more than happy to welcome Duster inside to avoid a blood bath."

"The Crimson Hand? Those idiots with the red chicken painted on the backs of their necks?" Hadrian laughed. "I didn't know they operated here."

"Well, I think they were just trying to get away from the two of us."

"How's that working out for them?"

"The guy in charge didn't look best pleased when he heard my name, but he was too scared to complain. Anyway, they told me that they saw a knight come into the village a few hours after we left. He got delayed by flooding on a section of the road south of here. From what the gang leader said, Sir Caelum stopped here over night on his way to meet a Duke or Viscount of some sort in Trent."

"So we've narrowed the search area down to the whole of Trent. Very specific," sighed Hadrian, flopping back on the bed again.

"Hey, at least I found that out. What have you done all day?"

"I travelled here the long way, and then I got rid of the box that makes you a murderous psycho."

Royce shrugged.

"Fair point," he conceded. "I appreciate that."

"Yeah, even so, I'm taking Alverstone too," said Hadrian, holding out a hand without looking up.

"You do realise I don't need Alverstone to kill you?" said Royce, holding the dagger protectively to his chest.

"Yes. Now hand it over."

"You're mean. And you wonder why you don't have any friends, except a murderous psycho."

*

The next morning, early, Hadrian and Royce set off for Trent. They decided to leave the box behind in the safe place Hadrian had hidden it, and they would bring Sir Caelum to it, rather than the other way round. It was a risk, but so was letting the magic get in their heads.

"You did make other people touch it, didn't you?" Royce asked sceptically as they rode. 

"Ye of little faith. I came across a couple of guards kicking a kid about for stealing an apple, so I made one of them hold the box, then took it off him, handed it to the other guard, helped the kid up, and then punched both guards in the face."

"At the same time?"

"Yes."

"Did you break their noses?"

"Both."

"Did you enjoy it?"

Hadrian gave a guilty look. Royce looked satisfied, almost proud.

"Good job. I knew you'd get there eventually."

"It only felt good becuase I saved the kid, and bought us more time."

"Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

They were close to the border with Trent, and they reached the first town by late morning. It was much colder here, and Spring didn't seem to have reached this part of the world yet, so Hadrian and Royce ended up wearing most of the clothes they owned, and even buying gloves as they travelled yet further north.

In each of the towns and villages they passed through, they asked if anyone had seen or heard of a knight travelling to meet some sort of noble. The first few settlements were no help, but once they joined a main road leading from Avryn, they had better luck.

"There's a travelling merchant up ahead," said Royce. Hadrian had to take Royce's word for it - he couldn't see anything. "He has a cart of potatoes."

"Why is that important?" asked Hadrian.

"Because, idiot, they are fresh, which means he travels this route regularly, which means he might well know of an unusual visitor, say, for example, some ass of a knight who has betrayed his own bloody king."

"And there was me just thinking you fancied some chips," smiled Hadrian. He looked again, and could just make out the small figure of a man up ahead on the long, straight road, but he would never have known he was pushing a cart of potatoes.

"Hello, sir," said Hadrian, once the distance between the two parties had closed significantly. "Do you know if a knight has come this way recently? He isn't from around here, but from Westerlins. Have you heard anything?"

"Ai?" shouted the crooked old man, putting a huge hand behind his huge ear. "Speak up, lad, I'm five times your age. Me ears don't work proper no more."

Hadrian began again, but the man interrupted him.

'Nay, boy. Bloody shout."

"Have you seen a Knight from Westerlins?" Royce yelled impatiently.

"Westerlins? What do you want to be messing with them for? And if you've pissed off one of their knights, well then, Maribor help you."

"The knight pissed off the king, and we need to pass on the message," shouted Hadrian.

"Nay, boy. Don't worry yourselves with that. A message will be sent soon enough. Big box with a sword hilt in it."

Hadrian and Royce looked at each other.

"You know about the summons box?" asked Hadrian.

"What did you say? Speak up."

"You know about the box!"

"Course I do. Used to live over the border, didn't I? Don't want to touch one of them boxes, though. Nasty things. Soon as you touch it, you can't rest. They'll find you."

"Well, shit," sighed Royce. Then he raised his voice again. "Oi, old man, have you seen this knight? He's supposedly looking for some Viscount or Duke of some sort."

"Go to Lanksteer. Little bit north and you reach a place called Lontarch. That's the only place I've ever seen Westerlin knights go."

"Thank you," said Hadrian, smacking Royce's hand as he reached for a potato off the man's cart. "Good day."

"Well, he was a daft old coot but he was more help than you've been regarding knowledge of Westerlins," said Royce as they rode on. 

"In my defence, I have only ever been there once, and I didn't stay long. A bit desolate for my liking. Not much to do, except piss off the king. I suppose people just do it for the entertainment value."

The pair rode all day, and didn't set up camp until it was fully dark. 

"How many days do we have until the hunt starts?" Hadrian asked, setting his bed up close to the warmth of the fire. The temperature had dropped even more now that the light was gone.

"If we are going on the assumption that we have until the new moon, today was our last chance," said Royce, pointing up at the dark sky. "They will be setting out tomorrow."

"Great. So it's a full out race to see whether we can find Sir Caelum before the executioners, or assassins, or whatever they are, find us."

"As far as I can tall, that's the general idea. How far away would they be?"

"They would have been just the other side of the border. They like to make sure criminals don't get any more of a head start than necessary. I reckon we are the same distance from Caelum as the assassins, but they don't know he's the one they are looking for."

"So it will be close?"

"Very, I would imagine."

"Great."

Hadrian and Royce both survived the night without any problems, and set off early to cover good ground.

They rode for another two days, going hard but trying not to kill their horses. Thankfully, the road was straight and solid, and although it was cold, this meant the horses didn't get too warm. 

They could almost feel the Westerlin executioners getting closer by the hour, but they were also getting closer to their destination

On the third day after meeting the old potato seller, they reached Lanksteer, a large city in the heart of Trent. As they approached the gates, guarded by what looked like half the army, Hadrian noticed that there were actually two walls, with a port cullis on both, meaning people could be trapped inside. He kept a firm hold on Royce's shoulder so that his small friend wouldn't piss anyone off and get them trapped, but Royce seemed to have noticed the infrastructure too. 

"Calm down, I'm not an idiot," Royce said, shrugging off Hadrian's hand once they were through both walls and inside the city. "I know when to cause trouble, and when to keep to myself. As tempting as it may be to take advantage of their lax security inside the walls, I'd rather not waste time here when we've got assassins on our tails. Besides, beating them will be much more fun."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Hadrian, riding as fast as he reasonably could along the main avenue heading due north through the city. 

Following a sign with a horse painted roughly on it, the two of them found somewhere to exchange their mounts for fresh animals, and set off once more, hope and energy renewed.

They made it out of the city safely, although Hadrian almost had a heart attack when there was a loud clunk from the outside gate as they rode between the two walls. He looked up in alarm, but then he heard Royce laugh.

"It was just a door inside the wall. It echoed around in the gap. By Mar, you're jumpy."

"I thought that maybe the assassins had infiltrated the city and were going to trap us," said Hadrian seriously. Royce stopped laughing at the thought.

Just like the other days, they didn't stop for lunch, but kept riding, and their well rested horses, stocky beasts built for stamina in the harsher northern landscape, made tireless progress.

Soon, a settlement appeared on the road ahead, nestled at the foot of the first mountains. Royce, who was rising ahead, pulled his horse to an abrupt stop, though Hadrian couldn't see why. He stopped nonetheless, and questioned Royce.

"Is it Lontarch?"

"I would assume so."

"Then what's the problem?"

"It doesn't exactly look… ducal."

"What do you mean?" asked Hadrian, squinting to try and see what Royce saw. It was no use - he could barely make out the town at all.

"You know how the Dukes and other nobles usually have some grand palace, or even a half decent mansion? I'm not seeing any of that yet."

"Noted," said Hadrian, drawing his short sword as the two of them rode on more cautiously. Eventually, Hadrian could see what Royce meant. 

The town wasn't surrounded by a wall like Lanksteer, but tree trunks, driven into the ground and sharpened to a point on the top, all lined up to make an impenetrable perimeter fence around the town. There was a small gate just off the road, and a guard either side, both built like bears and both armed with large pikes. 

"What's your business here?" demanded the one on the left, crossing his pike with the other guard's to block the entrance as Hadrian and Royce approached. They both dismounted and Hadrian hastily put away his sword. Royce took the opposite tact, and Hadrian noticed him subtly draw Alverstone, which Hadrian had returned to him for good behaviour a few days previously, when Royce had not mentioned wanted to kill anyone even once the entire morning. He was now thinking he might have been too hasty.

"We've come to see Sir Caelum," said Hadrian, smiling. He could almost hear Royce roll his eyes at Hadrian's cheery tone, but he continued. "I believe he's visiting your Duke."

"We don't have a Duke," said the guard on the right. 

"Your Viscount, then."

"Nope, don't have one of those either."

"Then who-"

Royce nudged Hadrian sharply in the ribs. Hadrian frowned, but Royce pointed through the gate and up the hill.

Standing on the top, just outside a fortified mansion built of the same vertical, pointed logs, was an enormous stone statue. The man depicted in granite was forty feet tall, and had bulging muscles and bared teeth as he fought against a dragon-like creature with his bare hands. The serpentine body of the monster was coiled and writhing as the huge man held its wings in one hand and squeezed its neck with the other. His long hair was carved to look like a strong wind was whipping it backwards, along with his fur cloak, the bear's head still attached on the back like a drawn back hood. 

The whole image left Hadrian in no doubt who the knight had come to see; who lived in the fortified house; and who was in charge of the whole of Lontarch.

"You said it was a Duke," Hadrian hissed, gripping the front of Royce's shirt with one hand and pointing an accusing finger at him with the other. "You said Duke. You didn't say fucking /warlord!/"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for any inaccuracies in travel/geography. I had to work things around to make it fit. I am also adding to Hadrian's history, as is hinted at in the previous chapters, so it's not entirely cannon, but I thought I'd have a bit of fun! Comments appreciated!


	7. Ghosts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian battles with the past as his mind plays tricks on him in the confusion of a snow storm. But somehow he will have to win back control because he'll need his wits about him when trouble rears its head once more...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter finally here. Enjoy!
> 
> Sorry for any spelling mistakes. Word is playing up so I have limited spell checker.

"By Mar, shut up," hissed Royce, and Hadrian saw him watch the guards over his shoulder. But Hadrian ignored him. They were in a shit tonne of trouble if they had to go in there to find Sir Caelum.

Clearly seeing that Hadrian wasn't going to shut up, Royce dragged Hadrian away from the gate.

"Give us a second, gentlemen," he said dryly to the guards, who looked confused, but unbothered. They began talking between themselves, and after a few seconds, they seemed to have completely forgotten that Hadrian and Royce were even there.

"What in all hells is wrong with you?" Royce demanded, once they were a good distance away. "You haven't got that bloody box on you, have you?"

"No, of course not. I told you, I left it in the town."

"Then it must just be you making me feel murderous. Why does it matter if this guy is a Warlord rather than a Duke or Viscount? You've met a Warlord before, and to be honest, they are actually less dangerous than a Duke, because they make no illusions about when they want to kill you."

"This isn't a joke, Royce," Hadrian warned, checking his swords to make sure he could draw them quickly if he had to. "This isn't just any Warlord, alright?"

"Do you want to elaborate on that?" asked Royce, when Hadrian didn't continue. 

"I…" Hadrian closed his eyes briefly and took a breath. "Just go in there, find some way to get to Sir Caelum, and bring him out."

"Alive?"

"Yes, of course alive, you idiot."

"Alright, you distract this scary Warlord and I'll grab His Knightliness, or however you refer to them."

Hadrian shook his head. He gave an involuntary shiver, and wasn't entirely sure it was from the cold, although it had begun to snow lightly. He noticed his hands twitch towards his swords, and hastily hid the motion by adjusting his belt, but it didn't escape Royce's sharp eye. Thankfully, his friend didn't say anything, but stood and waited for Hadrian to respond.

"Ok, you look like you're about to be sick, so I'm just going to take a step back," said Royce eventually, after waiting a full minute in silence. "Did the shake of the head mean no?"

"What does a head shake normally mean?" snapped Hadrian, getting closer to breaking point and pacing to release some of his pent up energy. "Please, just go in and get this ass of a Knight."

"Why do you make it sound like I'm going in alone?" asked Royce suspiciously. "I mean, normally I'd be perfectly happy to do a job without having to worry about the racket you're making behind me. But this isn't a stealth mission, and I'd appreciate some support. And what's that weird look on your face?"

"It's fear, you absolute fucking moron," bellowed Hadrian, unable to take it. "That look, the one you don't recognise because you are some kind of emotionless bastard? That look is utter terror. Why do I make it sound like you're going in alone? Because that's exactly what you're doing. You'll do perfectly well without me, so don't pretend you need my help. You know I'd usually do anything for you, but I can't do this. Not this. Not again."

Fully aware it was not the cold that was making him shake uncontrollably, Hadrian drew his swords just for something to distract himself. He instantly felt safer with their weight in his hands, but he knew they would not help him if he set foot inside the gates. He stuck them in the snow and leant on them, feeling older than he ever had. He breathed heavily, determined not to let Royce see through his defences. But Royce saw more than most people.

"What did he do?" Royce said quietly, and for once, his hushed voice didn't sound like a threat. Not one aimed at Hadrian, anyway. Hadrian shook his head, trying to compose himself, but Royce asked again. "What did this guy do?"

"I had just returned from Westerlins, and I stopped off in Lanksteer on my journey back," said Hadrian simply, not looking at Royce, but twisting his bastard sword in the snow to make a small hole. "I met Ugrell then, and it turned out he seemed to know me, Ok? But I didn't enjoy a particularly welcoming time once he finally realised where he recognised me from. Apparently, he's been to the jungles of Calis, but he wasn't on my side during the fights. His hospitality dropped somewhat when he realised I was Galenti."

Hadrian saw Royce trying to imagine what a Northern Warlord would do to a house guest once he discovered he was the one that had killed his favourite champions in the ring. Most people probably wouldn't have been able to imagine such awful things, but Royce probably had no trouble.

"How come you didn't recognise the name of the town when the potato man told us where to go?" asked Royce.

"I never knew the name of the place. Ugrell just introduced it as his home."

"I guess when you got out, you didn't wait around to learn the name of the place."

"Exactly."

"Ok."

Hadrian looked up. "What?" 

"I said Ok."

"You don't want me to come with you?"

"No. Listen, I wouldn't want to go back to Manzant, and you wouldn't make me. So it's only fair I let you off, just this once."

"Really?" asked Hadrian. He had barely ever heard Royce talk about the prison. And it wasn't like Royce to let people off anything.

Royce nodded. "Don't think this means I'm getting soft or anything," he scowled.

"I wouldn't dream of it," breathed Hadrian, barely believing his fortune. Relief swept over him. He didn't have to go in there. He didn't have to see that Maribor-damned Warlord. He would have liked more than anything to be able to go in there and bury his sword into Ugrell's chest, but even if Hadrian had been able to bring himself the enter the gates, he was almost certain his courage would have failed him at the sight of the Warlord, and he would not have been able to finish it.

"Stay out here and make sure Sir Caelum doesn't try and escape," said Royce. "Are these the only gates? Good, just wait here then, and keep an eye open. If I can't take him alive, I might just have to flush him out."

Hadrian nodded, lifting his swords and composing himself. "Don't get into trouble."

"Please," said Royce, waving him away. "I survived perfectly well before I met you. In fact, I got into a lot less trouble before I met you."

"How does The Black Diamond, Manzant Prison and the Year of Fear sound like less trouble to you?"

"Have you forgotten that literally our first job together almost got both of us killed?" pointed out Royce.

"Just don't make me come in there," said Hadrian. "And don't die."

"I'm predicting a lot of deaths, but none of them are mine. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Royce gave Hadrian a terrifying grin before turning and walking back to the guards. After a brief exchange of words, Royce gave Hadrian a thumbs up, and disappeared through the gate.

*

He was not out in a few minutes. 

Hadrian was pacing back and forth some much that he had made a trench in the deepening snow. He told himself that he was just pacing to keep warm, and not because he was concerned. 

The guards at the gate had watched him curiously at first, but now they were both huddled around a brazier, both wearing heavy furs and thick cloaks. Neither of them cared about Hadrian any more since he didn't seem a threat, despite the fact he was still holding his two swords. 

Hadrian wished he could join them around the fire, but although they were being fair to him and not driving him away, he doubted their hospitality would extend to letting him stay warm by their fire.

With nothing to do but pace and keep an eye out for a startled Knight running his way, Hadrian couldn't help but let his thoughts wander. A dangerous exercise in his current state of mind and in the absence of alcohol.

Each time he turned in his pacing, Hadrian thought he caught glimpses of Ugrell in the corner of his eye. It was hard not to think of the massive man when a forty foot statue of him towered over the town, but it wasn't this that played tricks on Hadrian. 

The snow had always bothered him because of the way it messed with his vision and made him see things that weren't there. This time, Hadrian caught flashes of the huge Warlord slamming his chair backwards, sending it crashing to the ground as he leapt to his feet.

/"You are Galenti?" he roared, as Hadrian also jumped to his feet, backing away. There was a No Weapons policy in the Warlord's presence, but Hadrian seriously wished he had ignored it that night. He should never have mentioned Calis to Ugrell. He should never have mentioned it at all. At that moment he wished he was back in the jungles more than anywhere else, because it was the furthest place from the furious Warlord who was staring him down with wild mania in his eyes./

"Stop it," Hadrian hissed at himself, hitting the side of his head with the pummel of one of his swords. "Control yourself. Focus." 

/"You killed my champion!" shouted Ugrell, pounding his fist on the table. This seemed to be a sign to his guards because seconds later, Hadrian was grabbed by many hands and forced to kneel. He fought against them, but Ugrell's men were almost as huge as their master, and they held him easily. 

Certain he was going to die there and then, Hadrian prayed to Maribor, and then to Muriel, and Drome, and even to Uberlin, to save him. The events that followed made him wish he had asked for a quick death instead./

"Don't," growled Hadrian, stopping his pacing and squeezing his eyes shut so the snowy curtain blurring his vision couldn't play tricks on him. "God's damn it, Royce. Hurry the hell up so we can get out of here. This place is driving me crazy."

Exhausted, his mind spinning, Hadrian cleared away a patch of snow and sat down on his pitch covered sheet. He chopped at the snow in front of him with his broad sword and tried not to think about anything else. Again, he failed.

/The knotted rope bit into his back yet again, and Hadrian screamed as he felt it tear his flesh. He had lost track of time in the dark little cage, but knew he had been begging for the end for what felt like days./

"No, not this. Not this," moaned Hadrian, holding his head in his hands and pulling at his hair. It was like there was something in his head that was ignoring his every command and forcing him to replay those long, agonising days all over again. 

/What felt like fire wracked his body with burning pain, making him tear at his own skin to try and stop the flaming agony. Blood poured down his arm as he gouged his flesh, but he couldn't stop./

Hadrian felt icy cold fingers on him and looked down at his arms to find that he had rolled up his sleeves and covered himself in snow, trying to cool a heat that hadn't been there in years. He hastily pulled down his sleeves and glanced at the gate.

To his relief, he saw Royce appear. The small man dressed in black strode towards him, his dagger still out and dripping with blood. Not usually a welcoming sight, but one Hadrian was more than glad to see. 

"Thank Maribor you're here. I am going insane. Please can we get out of here?" said Hadrian, holding out his hand for Royce to pull him to his feet.

But Royce didn't say anything, but held his dagger up. Hadrian realised it was not the intricate white blade of Alverstone, but a jaggered edged knife made from dirty steel. Studying the man again, Hadrian realised the figure was just like the knife. Instead of the elegance and grace Royce had when he walked, this man plodded, jaggered movements rather than sharp precision. He grabbed Hadrian with one hand by the neck, and held his hand flat on the ground, positioning the knife over each of his fingers in turn. The more Hadrian fought, the tighter the grip around his throat. He gasped and spluttered, but the world was going blurry and white.

Wait.

With the largest effort yet, Hadrian brought himself back to the present. He leapt to his feet and swung his swords in a fast circle. There was no-one there, except the guards a little way off, who glanced over at him like he was mad. Hadrian supposed he was.

The blurry white he had seen was the snow storm getting heavier, but Hadrian barely noticed. He realised he had fallen asleep, tired after long days on the road, combined with the constant anxiety of wondering when they were going to be caught by the assassins sent from Westerlins.

Waking himself up by putting cold snow down his back, Hadrian straightened up, packing the pitch sheet back up and gathering his swords. Clearer headed, but now freezing, Hadrian threw caution to the winds and approached the guards.

"Could I?" he pleaded, pointing to the brazier and rubbing his hands together. The younger of the two guards looked hesitantly at his senior, who sighed heavily, but moved aside slightly to let Hadrian in. 

"Thank you," smiled Hadrian gratefully, feeling the pleasant warmth as he held his hands over the fire. He positioned himself so that he could see the fort where Royce must have entered almost an hour ago, and tried to spot any sign of what was going on. 

After a few minutes of watching, Hadrian noticed something odd. 

There seemed to be a large kerfuffle going on in the main entrance to the fort, with guards running in with pikes and maces. They shouted something to one another, and the guards at the gate with Hadrian also turned to see. 

"What are they saying?" Hadrian demanded, when he saw the guards ready their weapons. Thankfully they did not point them at him, but looked ready to join the crowd up the hill. "What are they shouting? What's happened?"

The older guard ignored him, shooting him a dirty look and ordering him to stay where he was before running up the hill, pike held ready.

"They say, "Intruder"," the younger guard admitted to Hadrian as he ran past after his colleague. "They say, "Assassin." They say someone tried to kill one of the Master's guests, a Knight."

"Bloody hell, Royce," cursed Hadrian, summoning every last ounce of courage he could muster. "I said /don't/ make me come in there."

And in a moment of reckless abandon, Hadrian managed to convince his feet to move, and he sprinted inside the town after the guards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it, things get interesting in the next chapter.
> 
> On an unrelated note, if anyone knows any good fics for the Greatcoats series, please drop me a comments, since I can't find a single fic! It's such a good series, so if you haven't read it, I really recommend.
> 
> Thank you for your continued support and lovely comments!


	8. Developments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce infiltrates the fort and discovers a few interesting things before Hadrian hears the kerfuffle and has to intervene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for any spelling/grammar issues - I was very tired when I finished this chapter, and I still don't have a proper spell-checker. 
> 
> Please enjoy, and I hope things are starting to get interesting now. I have plans for this story which I'm quite excited about, so I hope they pan out.

Slightly uncomfortable about leaving Hadrian when he was clearly in a bad way, Royce approached the guards at the gate.

"What's wrong with your friend?" asked the older guard.

"He's not exactly enjoying our little holiday, so I thought it best to leave him out here so he doesn't offend your Warlord. Keep an eye on him, would you? Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid."

"Fine. What's your business here?"

"I've come to speak to Ugrell, and one of his guests. I believe he's harbouring a fugitive from Westerlins."

"Westerlins?" repeated the younger guard. "Shit. If his Lordship is helping someone hiding from their King, we're all screwed. You're not one of the assassins from Westerlins, are you?"

"If I was, I wouldn't have stopped for this pleasant little chat. Here's the deal - you let me in to take care of this fugitive, and I'll make sure he's out of the town before the assasins come for him. They won't care how many people they have to kill to get to him, so it's best I take him off your hands."

The young guard seemed terrified, and eagerly agreeded with Royce's proposal. The senior didn't look as convinced, but still stepped aside to let him pass. 

Royce gave Hadrian a thumbs up behind his back, and then walked through the gate.

The snow made the hill harder to climb, but Royce made short work of it, approaching the entrance to the fort. Close up, it wasn't that unlike ducal mansions and palaces he had seen in Elan, just made of a different building material. It had the same grand entrance, the same straight corridor leading off to large, elaborately decorated rooms, and the same pompous guards who believed they were invincible because they had been promoted from bottom gate to fort protectors. 

"What business so you have in the fort?" demanded the guard on the left. Royce hooked a finger over his shoulder, and the older guard at the gate shouted up.

"Let him in, he's saving all our asses."

"Fair enough," shrugged the guard on the right, who looked absolutely done with everything and everyone. He was huddled tightly into his furs, but unlike the guards at the gate, these two had no brazier to keep them warm. This guy looked like he would let anyone in just to avoid having to take his hands out of his pockets and fight someone.

The guard on the left seemed to have taken the opposite tact, and was looking for a fight, possibly just so he could go to the infirmary and get warm. Whatever his thinking, he stood in front of the doorway, his mace at the ready.

"The only thing I can imagine is that you want to be stabbed because you think it will warm you up, but I'm telling you from experience, if it doesn't get infected and give you a fever, the blood loss just makes you colder," said Royce uninterestedly, pulling out Alverstone.

"Are you threatening a guard?" asked the man pompously. Clearly he was as exactly as thick as he looked.

"Yes, obviously I'm threatening you. How was that not clear?" Royce leapt forwards, ducked under the guards arm and pushed him over from behind.

"See, now I am trying to be nice, but if you try and raise an alarm, I will use this, and trust me, I have plenty of experience and very little patience. We good?"

The guard muttered angrily about foreigners and show-offs, but the other guard just nodded and told his friend to shut up.

"Much appreciated. I will be back, along with a friend of mine. Actually, if you could point me in the direction of the guest wing, I'd be grateful."

"Down there to the left," said the more co-operative guard, although he looked uncomfortable. "But all the guests are currently in with his Lordship in the feasting hall to your right."

Royce gave one of his terrifying smile and left the two guards debating their decision to let him inside.

Sauntering down the corridor, Royce glanced into each of the rooms he passed, both to his left and his right, but there wasn't much to see since most of the doors were pulled closed. However the fourth door on his right, although still closed, heralded more success, and Royce could smell the various succulent scents of a feast. At first he wondered if it might be the kitchen, but putting an ear to the door quickly told him it was not.

"My Lord, I have to say you have out done yourself this time," drawled a pompous voice from within the room. "Your hospitality knows no bounds."

/I wonder what you'll think of his hospitality once he finds out you're a fugitive/ thought Royce to himself, keeping an eye up and down the corridor as he edged closer to the door. /Hadrian didn't seem to enjoy it much, and I doubt you are half as tough as him, Sir Knight./

There were some chirps of agreement with Sir Caelum's praise, and Royce figured there were at least ten other guests dining with the Warlord. It wasn't these people Royce was worried about; it was the personal guards of each of these people, and the guards that Ugrell would undoubtedly have behind him.

If Royce didn't threaten the other guests, their personal bodyguards shouldn't be a problem, but if Ugrell demanded they fight with his own guards, Royce couldn't imagine they would be given the choice to refuse their host.

Sir Caelum's voice rose over the noise again. 

"Truly, my Lord, I understand why my King speaks so highly of you now. Your strength and power takes nothing away from your loyalty to a Kingdom which owes you so much already." 

Wait, what?

Royce had never heard of Trent and Westerlins being allies. There had been war between the two lands long ago, and there were still skirmishes now and again over the border towns. When he had first heard that Sir Caelum had taken refuge in Trent, he had thought it was because he had upset his King by siding with the enemy. But from what Royce was hearing, this warlord seemed to be getting on perfectly well with Westerlins, which explained why the guards at the gate had been so keen for him to get rid of a possible fugitive from there - they didn't want cause for war. 

At least this was something Royce could use to his advantage.

He continued to listen, and Sir Caelum drawled on.

"You're great city is a tribute to your successes, and shows how mighty a ruler you are, my Lord. I raise a toast to you. Lord Ugrell!"

Echoes of "Lord Ugrell" ran around the feasting room and escaped put of the door. 

"Kiss ass," Royce muttered, and was just about to burst through the door when another voice rose above the crowd. And it was as if Drome himself were speaking from within the solid rock of the mountains to the north.

"Quiet. You praise me too much," it said gently, except the air seemed to waver with every word. "I just wish for you to enjoy your feast, sirs. We have great entertainment for you tonight."

Royce didn't want to find out what the entertainment was, and because he could think of no other way to stop the conversation, he pushed the door open and strutted in.

"Alright, which one of you pompous assholes is Sir Caelum?" he asked, standing at the end of a long table, hand on his hip and throwing his dagger in the air and catching it perfectly by the handle each time. 

There was stunned silence for a few moments which gave Royce the chance to take in every detail of the room.

The long table on front of him seated forty, a mixture of Dukes, Viscounts, and what Royce assumed to be lesser Warlords. From the numbers, it seemed the nobles had been the ones cheering along with Sir Caelum's ass kissing, while the other thirty or so 'lesser Warlords' had remained silent. 

This meant that Royce had greatly underestimated how many personal guards would be standing around the room, and he suspected the only reason he hadn't already been tackled to the floor was because they had not expected anyone to be so stupid as to interrupt such a heavily guarded meeting.

But what took Royce by surprise the most was the /thing/ sitting at the head of the table. 

To Royce - who didn't even scrape five and a half feet - Hadrian was pretty big, being a foot taller than him and twice as broad. Ugrell, even sixty feet away and sitting down, was a bloody giant.

Royce would guess he was at least eight feet tall, and about six feet wide. He would have thought the warlord had rocks strapped to his back if Ugrell's torso wasn't bare to reveal his massive shoulder muscles, only partially covered by a fur cloak. His hands were the size of Royce's chest, and he was pretty certain the Warlord would have been able to lift him up and throw him across the room with as little effort as if he were a snowball. 

"Sorry, your Lordship. I didn't mean to interrupt," said Royce, calmly, keeping hold of his dagger now. Royce knew he was good, but he wasn't good enough to take on a giant and his army single-handedly. Not without a plan. He was no fully aware of how Hadrian had been so easily over-powered by this Warlords' men, and why he was so utterly terrified of being captured and tortured again by these people.

"Who in Maribor's name are you?" asked a man to the left of Ugrell. It was the same pompous voice that Royce had heard from the door. He studied the man, who had a greased goaty beard and moustache, but powerful arms and a strong posture which suggested that although he considered himself to be noble, he was a soldier who kept himself in good shape. Sir Caelum.

"Calm, sir," said Ugrell, rattling the dinner plates slightly, even though he had not yet raised his voice. A more optimistic man might have thought himself safe at this point, but Royce knew better. And he was proven right.

"Guards," growled Ugrell, and all of the men around the room who had been looking after their own masters, stepped closer to their charges as creatures only a little smaller than Ugrell himself jogged down the sides of the room, about twelve in total, carrying pikes and maces. Some even had long swords. 

Suddenly Alverstone felt like a butter knife in Royce's hand.

"I think I'll be leaving," said Royce, and raced for the door. He easily beat the guards and managed to escape into the corridor, but the guards at the front door had heard the Warlord shout, and pushed the doors closed before Royce could reach them.

Cursing, Royce skidded to a halt and looked around scrambling for ideas as the guards from the feasting hall approached. He noticed that one of the doors to his left was agar, and prayed it wasn't just a storage cupboard as he charged through it.

To his relief, he was faced with another corridor, and at the end, a staircase spiralling upwards. Thinking it probably wasn't worth locking the door just to have the massive guards break it down in seconds, Royce raced to the stairs and scampered up them.

"You don't have to catch him, you just have to keep him in here until I have finished dining," echoed the voice of Ugrell. Royce heard the footsteps behind him slow, and then stop, before returning to the main corridor. 

Royce heaved a sigh of relief once he was sure that all the guards had retreated, but he continued his way along the corridor from the stairs, trying to figure out how he could get out. He had not forgotten what Hadrian had said about not making him come in there, but if he was stuck for too long, Hadrian would guess something had gone wrong and force himself to come and save him.

Royce examined all of the windows he passed, but the leaded glass was thick and tough, and he had nothing with which to break it. None of the windows opened - Royce figured it probably didn't ever get warm enough to need to allow a breeze in - and there were no other exits on the first floor. Royce headed up to the next floor, but it was the same story, so he tried one of the towers on the front of the fort. The staircase spiraled up a further three floors above the top of the mansion, and had no rooms except for a door at the top which opened out onto the turreted top of the tower. The snow was begining to pile up on the walls, and Royce scowled at it. He hated snow, and it meant hat his plan to climb down the side of the tower would not be possible unless he wanted the very likely risk of slipping and falling to his death.

Strangely, it didn't appeal. 

From this height, Royce could see down over the town and over to the gate where Hadrian was pacing about in the snow. He seemed distressed, but not like he was losing it, so Royce reckoned he had a while yet before his friend stormed the castle to rescue him.

Concluding that he would just have to wait it out, Royce descended to the first floor again, and kept an ear out for any guards moving about, or more of Ugrell's commands. The latter wouldn't be hard to miss, but it stayed quiet for about half an hour. Royce kept moving, in case anyone was still looking for him, but he only encountered a few servants who were too scared by Alverstone being held to their throats to cause any trouble.

The snow was beginning to fall heavily by the time Royce finally heard movement from downstairs. At first it was just an increase in the volume of chatter, but then he began to hear the distinct clatter of plates being clear, and the doors to the feasting hall scraping open again. He moved slowly from his hiding place on top of a bookcase and crept towards the door of the room so he could hear better.

"Rest a while in your rooms, gentlemen, while we sort out our little vermin problem," came the unmistakable voice of the warlord. "We'll get this problem cleared up and they'll still be plenty of time for the entertainment, trust me. In fact, the evening may be better than expected."

Royce was not liking the menacing way in which Ugrell talked about "the entertainment". He heard the clinking of weapons as guards began to make their way up the stairs, so he retreated back on top of the bookcase to wait for them to pass.

He heard Ugrell talking to the guards at the main doors, trying to figure out why they had let Royce inside in the first place. 

"Fugitive? From Westerlins?" repeated Ugrell. "No, none of my guests are cowards. Well, none from Westerlins, anyway."

He gave a deep laugh, and Royce heard the guards chuckle politely. 

"No-one leaves until I've found this little rat and caught him. Guard these doors, and don't let anyone pass, even if they claim to be the King of Westerlins himself."

The doors closed with a echoing boom, and Ugrell's massive footfalls echoed towards the back of the manor. 

Once he was sure the coast was clear, Royce slipped down the stairs like a shadow. He peeked around the wall and was glad to see that Ugrell had made the guards stand outside when he had closed the doors, so the hallway was deserted. 

Opening a door to his left, Royce found a passage way which he soon discovered led to the guest wing. Opulent bedroom suites, surprisingly well decorated compared to the outside of the building, ran along both sides of the wing, separated from each other by cupboards or offices to provide more privacy and reduce the sound of your neighbour snoring in the next room. Most of the doors were shut, but a few of the occupants had left their doors ajar and Royce had to be careful not to catch their attention as he passed. 

Royce was worried as he neared the end of the wing that he had not found Sir Caelum, and he might have to knock on some doors, which wouldn't go down well. But then he heard the annoying voice from the feasting hall, and stopped outside the room at the end on the right, listening.

"Honestly, I don't understand why Ugrell has got into such a flurry over this of little man dressed in black. I know he was carrying a big knife, but he was probably harmless. Just a little puppy with his sharp little teeth. Honestly, I hope the entertainment is still going ahead like Ugrell says it is. I have no idea what it will be."

Whoever Sir Caelum was talking to was not interested, and just grunted. The knight seemed to get the hint, and excused himself from the room. As he headed around to the room next door, Royce pounced. He grabbed Sir Caelum around the neck and pressed the side of his blade against his throat. 

"Just a harmless little puppy, am I?" Royce whispered in his ear. "Well, let's just see how sharp my teeth are. Move."

Royce forced Sir Caelum into his room and swung the door closed behind him. Royce shoved the knight onto the bed and stood back against the door, casually fiddling with Alverstone. 

"Now here are your two options," said Royce. His captive had the god sense to stay quiet. "Option 1 - you come quietly with me, we make the guards open the gates and we walk out of here alive. My friend, Hadrian - you might meet him a little later - likes this option. This option is the one he wants you to choose."

"What's Option 2?" asked Sir Caelum, although he didn't really seem to want to know the answer. 

Royce smiled. "Option 2 is where you try and resist me, I get impatient, and I decide it's really not worth trying to take you alive, so I kill you and take you back to your king that way. This is my personal favourite of the two."

"My King won't stand for it," said Sir Caelum obstinately, although his voice shook.

"Actually, I think your king will be delighted to have your body returned to him. It would save his assassins some trouble."

"Assassins? What are you talking about, good Sir?"

"Oh, cut the crap. You did something to piss off your king, and now he's sent you a lovely box with a sword handle on it. Now get up or get killed."

"Please," begged Sir Caelum. "I don't know what you're talking about. Why would Amrath send me a Westerlins assassination summons?"

"Wait, what?" scowled Royce. "What do you mean Amrath? You're a Westerlins knight, not a knight of Melengar."

"No, I'm from Melengar, born and raised. My name is Sir Hendrik."

Royce leant back against the door and growled. "Why did you speak when I addressed Sir Caelum in the feasting hall?" he demanded.

"There is no knight called Sir Caelum. Not staying here, anyway. I only interrupted to ask who you were. That question still stands, by the way."

"Shut up!" snapped Royce, pointing his dagger at the knight. Royce could hear a small group of Ugrell's men coming slowly down the corridor, checking all the rooms, so Royce needed to move quickly. "Where's Caelum? I know he's here."

"I've told you, there is no sir Caelum here, and hasn't been at all since I arrived two weeks ago. So he's the fugitive?" 

"Yes, he is, and you'd better tell me where I can find him, because I have two separate accounts that say that fugitives like him would come here."

"On my honour, there has been no man by that name or description since I have been here, or any time before when I have visited."

Royce was furious. Sir Caelum had to be there. He had to be, or else the assassins would be coming for Royce and Hadrian and they would run out of time.

Royce pressed the point of Alverstone over the knight's heart.

"Swear to me. Let me see it in your eyes," he hissed, but before Sir Hendrik could say anything, the door burst open, and massive hands grabbed Royce. He tried to wriggle free, still welding Alverstone, but in the end, he was over-powered by the giant men, and dragged out of the room.

"We have him," shouted the guards, waving someone to open the front door as Royce was pulled into the hallway. "He was trying to kill Sir Hendrik."

"No, I wasn't. I was trying to kill a different knight," argued Royce, squirming and kicking to get free. "I'm not the intruder."

But even as he spoke, Royce's voice was drowned out by guards shouting to one another. 

"Assassin! An intruder attacked one of the guests. He tried to kill a knight. Take him to the cage."

/Crap/ thought Royce, as he was dragged into the room next door to the feasting hall. /If Hadrian hears any of the shouting, he'll be straight up here thinking he needs to save me. He's such an idiot./

"Bastard," he heard Hadrian shout from somewhere far away, but then something cracked into Royce's skull and everything went black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments very much appreciated! Hope you enjoyed it.


	9. Screams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian hears the chaos and knows he has to save Royce, so he has to fight his inner demons, as well as a fair few guards, to find his friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait, guys; been super busy and then had no WiFi. Here it is though, the next chapter. A little bit short, but a couple more already written and ready to upload.
> 
> Bit more gruesome, these next couple, with mentions to blood and torture, just so you know.
> 
> Enjoy!

Hadrian ran up the hill after the guards as fast as he could in the deepening snow, drawing his spadone blade as he went. It made him feel a little less terrified as he approached the main entrance to the manor, which had been thrown open to allow the masses of guards to enter. Shouting "bastard!" at Royce as he went also helped.

Hadrian hung back so as not to draw too much attention, and let the crowd move through into the hallway. Once his path was clear, he tried to move after them, but found his feet wouldn't move. 

Panting anyway from the sudden sprint up the hill in the cold air, Hadrian found himself short of breath. He clutched the door way to steady himself, and realised he couldn't do it. 

Because his blood had just frozen in his veins as the echoing voice of the man he feared most in the world rung in his ears, and this time it wasn't a hallucination.

"Get inside, all of you," shouted Ugrell, his voice threatening to shatter the windows. "We have some new entertainment for tonight. But we need to declaw the cat before he can be put into the cage. He's a feisty one, so we'll need a few of you to help. Hurry up, we don't want to keep our guests waiting."

"Shit," muttered Hadrian, his whole body quivering as he blinked away the tears from his eyes. His knuckles were white from gripping his sword so tightly, and it was the only thing keeping him together. But he couldn't go in. He couldn't.

And then he heard the screaming.

It was the most agonising, torturous noise Hadrian had ever heard, and he could never have imagined Royce could make such a sound. It was made worse by the fact that Hadrian knew exactly what was being done to Royce to weaken him before putting him in the cage, because Hadrian had experienced exactly the same thing.

The sound of Royce's anguish had the opposite effect to Ugrell's voice, and made Hadrian's blood burn in his veins, anger coursing through him. 

"Fuck you, Ugrell," shouted Hadrian, and charged into the fort.

Most of the guards had dispersed into various rooms, but a few were still crowded around the doorway which Hadrian remembered led to the great hall next to the feasting room. It was a grand space, decorated with a large painting of former warlords at one end, and the walls either side adorned with the heads of various different animals which had been stuffed and preserved. In between the various big cat heads were round shields with the marks of each warlord painted on the front, outlining the history of the town. On the back wall was a huge collection of weapons and torture devices, no longer used but still imposing. And every few metres around the edge of the room, not matter the time of day or whether the rooms was occupied, stood beefy guards, sneering and glowering.

It was a room meant to intimidate, and it did just that.

The main reason for its terrifying atmosphere was the large iron cage in the middle of the room. It had large spikes on the outside to stop spectators getting too close and interfering, and it had even sharper spikes inside to prevent the occupants from getting any ideas and trying to plead with the crowds. 

The guards still waiting to enter this room looked around when Hadrian shouted, and several of them went to draw weapons, but they were too slow. Using the flat of his sword, Hadrian hit the first guard in the face, and then in the stomach, sending him to his knees coughing and wheezing. 

The second guy was bigger and faster, but he didn't bother with a weapon and just charged to tackle Hadrian to the ground. Hadrian side stepped and avoided most of the strike, but the guard still got his arm around his waist. His momentum sent him over, and he managed to unbalance Hadrian, but couldn't pull him over too, so Hadrian helped the guard on his downward trajectory by slamming the pommel of his sword into the back of his head. 

The third and fourth guards came at Hadrian at the same time, reaching for their maces but apparently not bothered if they reached them in time since they just ran at him, perhaps thinking that he couldn't counter both of them at once. They were wrong. Hadrian swung out his sword in an arc and hit both of them in their amour chest plate, winding them slightly, but not stopping them. So Hadrian lowered his aim and swung back through the arc, this time catching their unprotected knees. 

There was a crack from one guard's knees and he fell, leaving his friend to have the skin and muscle sliced through at the top of his shins. He also collapsed in pain, but Hadrian didn't have time to wait around. The guards who had made it into the great hall were starting to realise what was going on, but Hadrian wasn't trying to get into the hall. He was aiming for the small, almost hidden door at the other end of the corridor just past the great hall, where he had been dragged to after Ugrell had ordered his capture. 

If he hadn't been seeing red, Hadrian would have collapsed from fear at the prospect of going through that little door again. As it was, he didn't think about it, just let instinct guide him to the door, which he wrenched open. 

On the other side was a dirty little corridor which ran for about twenty feet before opening up into a horrendous chamber, with a door on the right hand wall, leading to the great hall.

Hadrian stopped just before emerging into the chamber, and slowed his breathing, listening for voices. He almost couldn't keep himself hidden once the screams started again, ten times louder than they had been from outside. It was as if the world were being torn apart and all the most evil creatures of the underworld were set loose on the people of Elan, and then their screams collected into one terrible sound.

But this sound was from just one man, and the man that Hadrian cared about most in the world. Such a brave, resilient, unshakable man that such a scream being drawn from him was unthinkable. 

After a few awful seconds, the screams dissipated, although their echoes lingered in the chamber for twice as long. Once it was quiet again, Hadrian was able to listen for other people, and he counted three voices, and the same number of footfalls, so he was confident in his estimation.

Royce began screaming again, and Hadrian cringed as he peered around the edge of the wall. Sure enough, there were three huge men standing in front of a set of shackles attached to the wall. 

Pissed off and looking for a fight, Hadrian strode out of his hiding place and shouted at the guards, praying they would hear him over the screaming. One did, and he turned, drawing a sword at the same time. Hadrian parried the attack and struck out at the man's thigh, feinting and going for the shoulder. He was the superior swordsman in speed and skill and he met his mark, having successfully drawn the guard's sword down. 

Hadrian pushed the blade all the way through the man's shoulder and out the other side, before drawing it back out and blocking a mace attack from the middle guard, aimed at his head. The metal clanged together, and Hadrian felt the shock down his arm, but he let the man push against him, before sliding his sword out quickly and making the guard stumble to regain his balance. Hadrian pushed him aside to avoid the mace, and went for the third guard.

This man had not turned to attack Hadrian, and it was soon evident why. He was the one inflicting the torture on Royce. He turned his head briefly, not stopping his work, and smiled grimly at Hadrian. That smile stopped Hadrian in his tracks far more effectively than a mace or a sword. It was the only face, other than Ugrell's, that Hadrian had seen whilst he was held prisoner by the warlord, and he was the Cage Master

The thin, crooked man standing between Hadrian and Royce was the man in charge of the fights and tournaments held between prisoners in the spiked iron cage. He would organise the competitors, the weapons and the unexpected twists which made the fights such good "entertainment" for Ugrell and his guests. 

If the fighters were not evenly matched in skill, in order to make it interesting, the Cage Master would use terrible methods to weaken the stronger fighter. Because Hadrian was such an experienced and skilled swordsman, he had spent many hours in the hands of the man, and all his agony had been caused by him. 

So it was a pleasure to stick a sword through his heart, if he had one.

The Master gasped, and blood began to dribble from his lips, but he continued to smile, and Royce's screams didn't stop. Hadrian drew the blade out and plunged it in again. This time, the man spasmed and convulsed, falling to the floor as blood began to pool. He was dead within a few more seconds.

And still Royce screamed.

Hadrian rushed to his friend, who was suspended from the wall by chains around his wrists, leaving him to hang and struggle for breath as his airways were slowly restricted by his arms being above his head. 

"Royce! Royce, listen to me, it's Hadrian. What's he done to you?"

Royce couldn't hear Hadrian, or see him since his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Hadrian could see no obvious signs of injury which would cause Royce to be in such pain. It could be a poison, but it seemed unlikely as it was hard to control, and not often used for weakening fighters in case it accidently killed them. 

Hadrian found a set of keys on the ground near Royce and began to frantically try them in the lock on the shackles. Typically, it was the last key he tried, but eventually the metal rings split open, and Hadrian managed to catch Royce before he fell and injured himself. 

Still Hadrian couldn't see what the problem was with Royce as he continued to scream, but then Hadrian felt something on the back of Royce's neck. There was a small lump at the base of his head, the size of a small berry, but before Hadrian could try and remove it, the door from the great hall opened and two more guards came in. 

"What are you playing at in here? He needs to be coherent enough to actually-" The men stopped as they stared at Hadrian. Hadrian stared back, realising too late that he had dropped his sword on the floor when he had caught Royce. Unfortunately, the two guards had also noticed this, and the one at the front grinned. 

"Looks like there's a change of plans,' he sneered. "Galenti's back." 

And before Hadrian could figure out what to do with Royce, something was jabbed into the side of his neck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope it was worth the delay. Thanks to everyone who has commented, it means so much. All comments and notes welcome!


	10. Entertainment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian is back in his least favourite place, with his least favourite people. But he does have an unexpected visitor...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is here! I'm not all that great at writing fights, because I've never been in one, and if I was, I'd lose. So please forgive the crappy fight descriptions.
> 
> Enjoy!

Hadrian woke up screaming. He shouldn't have expected any less, but he didn't feel like much time had passed, which was odd. He quickly shut his mouth and opened his eyes. At first he thought his vision had gone funny, but he soon realised the lines in front of everything were not from his dodgy eyesight, but the bars of the cage he was trapped inside. 

Scrambling to his feet, he automatically reached behind him for his sword, but it wasn't there. He heard the harsh laugh of an eager crowd, and actually hoped it was a flashback this time. He reached for either of his other weapons, but his belt was missing. In fact he had been stripped to the waist, which was how he knew this was really happening. On all other occasions, he had entered the cage wearing some sort of animal skin which restricted his movement and made him over heat, even in the cold climate. It seemed they had neglected this hindrance to his ability. Perhaps they thought he had gotten older and slower. If so, they were wrong.

Hadrian took a step and almost collapsed. 

Pain shot up the side of his neck where he had been jabbed by the guard, and he recognised the effect as some sort of snake venom. It was one of the less effective methods they used to shackle fighters, but had the advantage that it set in quickly, and it still wasn't to be dismissed lightly. 

Lifting his head, Hadrian scanned the cage for his opponent. He was alone. Outside the bars, the crowd was three deep, with Ugrell's guards posted at the back in case of trouble. But they didn't seem to be particularly vigilant, so Hadrian suspected they weren't too worried about him escaping, or Royce making an entrance. 

Speaking of which, Hadrian could no longer hear screaming, which he convinced himself was a good sign, and not a terrible one. He couldn't see any sign of Royce, and when he counted the guards, there didn't seem to be any absent - clearly they all wanted to watch the entertainment. 

Ugrell was also missing, but that soon changed. 

"Gentlemen," boomed his great voice, and Hadrian couldn't hide a flinch. The crowd laughed again. "There has been a change to the cast of tonight's entertainment, but it may be a familiar face to some of you. A few years ago, we had the great honour of hosting Galenti!" 

Several nobles in the crowd booed and sneered, and the rest of the crowd picked up that this was the appropriate response, and joined in. 

"Yes, yes, gentlemen. I know he is not popular here, but nevertheless, he is a masterful fighter, as evidenced by his great escape. But it seemed he missed our company, because he has returned, and in honour of this, we have something special lined up for him. Bring in the champion."

There was a loud clunk, and the door behind Hadrian squealed open. He turned to see if there was an opportunity to fight his way out, but even the two steps to pivot were agony. He staggered backwards instead, and stumbled against the iron spikes on the bars, eliciting another jeer from the crowd. The people around the gate parted, and a guard shoved someone inside, quickly shutting the door behind them as the other fighter tried to escape. The spikes on the door swung in and the prisoner had to leap back to avoid being impaled. As they twisted to face Hadrian, he wasn't sure what he expected to see, but it certainly wasn't what he saw. 

"Royce," he exclaimed in relief. "You're alright."

"Well, I wasn't expecting that," said Ugrell, but he was grinning. "This should be very interesting."

Hadrian wasn't sure what Ugrell meant, but he didn't care. He staggered to Royce, who stood guardedly by the door, staring him down. 

"Royce, it's alright. Thank Maribor it's you. Maybe we have more time to think about this. Royce?"

"Who the hell is Royce?" 

Before Hadrian could comprehend this question, Royce bounded forwards and leapt at Hadrian. He had no weapons - Ugrell always did prefer hand to hand fights - but he reached out towards Hadrian's throat, the unmistakable look of murder in his eyes. 

"What the fuck, Royce?" demanded Hadrian, painfully wrestling his friend to the ground, trying to keep hold of him, but it was like trying to catch an eel. He writhed and wriggled, scratching and grabbing at Hadrian when he realised he couldn't over power him by strength. 

"Royce, is this to do with the box? Ok, listen to me, you bastard. It's me, Hadrian. You know me." 

"No. You are Galenti, and I have to beat you."

Royce was certainly trying his hardest to do so. He managed to get free from Hadrian's grip, and rolled away, getting to his feet. At least Hadrian knew it wasn't the box affecting Royce this time; before, he had at least known who they both were. But then came the bigger issue - Royce didn't recognise his own name. How could he not know? Had Ugrell's advances in torture come so far that he could wipe someone's memory in less that thirty minutes? It didn't make sense. 

Hadrian's thoughts were interrupted by Royce pouncing on him again. He was definitely stronger than he looked, but it wasn't enough to beat Hadrian in full health. However, Hadrian wasn't in full health, and although he had no actual injuries meaning he felt unrestricted, every time he moved, a different part of him burned in agony. Because it wasn't one area, Hadrian couldn't account for it, meaning every move was unpredictable. 

Royce grabbed his arms and yanked them behind Hadrian, causing dizzying pain. Hadrian swore and tried to rip his arms out of Royce's grip. He got one arm free, but Royce managed to keep hold of the other, and hold him back.

Now, Hadrian had spent enough time with Royce, studying his movements and accessing his ability, to know Royce's limits. In any other situation, if Royce had been holding onto Hadrian's arm and Hadrian had pulled away, even if Royce had been able to keep his grip, it would have resulted in Royce flying forwards still clinging to Hadrian's forearm. 

Of course, whatever the Cage Master had given Royce could have enhanced his strength, but there was no way he could have made Royce heavy enough to weigh Hadrian back, even in his weakened state. He should have gone flying forwards, but didn't. Something odd was going on. 

Aware that he was still having to fight for his life here, Hadrian tried not to get too distracted with this interesting turn of events, so he twisted suddenly, almost stumbling as his left foot gave way, and slammed into Royce. He was sent flying backwards and lost his balance, stumbling and almost falling into the spikes on the bars. The crowd booed as their champion showed weakness.

Wait.

Hadrian stood up and stared at Royce. In fact, he was so engrossed in watching him that he almost didn't realise Royce was actually coming for him again, aiming low to tackle him around the legs in an attempt to unbalance him. 

Lots of things were starting to fall into place. 

Royce should have known that the best way to beat Hadrian was to play to his non-violent side and pretend to be relieved to see him, before catching Hadrian by surprise and strangling him, or something. He should not have gone for the legs because he knew how good Hadrian's balance was in a fight. And Royce would never have lost his balance and stumbled when Hadrian shoved him. 

Ergo, this couldn't be Royce. 

The more Hadrian watched, being wary not to be killed in the process, the more he realised that although his opponent looked and sounded exactly like Royce, they didn't move like him. They was a level of elegance there, a sign of a decent fighter, but that wasn't the same as the way Royce moved. 

Hadrian remembered his awe when he had first met Royce properly, back at Sheridan University where they had practiced scaling the wall in preparation for the Crown tower job. Royce's movements were like poetry in motion, compared to everyone's half-baked verses. A good fighter could move like water. Royce moved like air. 

This definitely couldn't be Royce.

And it was Ugrell's words that sealed the deal - "Bring in the champion." How could Royce be their champion if he had only been there half an hour? Hadrian knew Royce had a shady past, but this was not in his repertoire. And Ugrell had been surprised when Hadrian had called his opponent Royce. 

"Where's Royce?" Hadrian demanded, struggling with his competitor yet again.

"Who the hell is Royce?" repeated the look-alike, punching Hadrian in the jaw, again with strength Royce could never manage. 

"Do you like our new recipe?" bellowed Ugrell with a cold laugh. "I wondered how long it would take for you to figure it out. A little bit of magic, and the toxin we give you makes you imagine you are fighting the most dangerous person you know. The fact that this was your little play mate was a bonus. Food for thought, I suggest, if you make it out alive."

'Royce' had now found his stride and was pummelling Hadrian to the ground. Hadrian tried to dodged but again his leg buckled and sent his sprawling to the floor. His head cracked on the flagstones and the world swam for a second, before he was kicked in the stomach. But instead of fighting back, Hadrian rolled away as best he could and lumbered to his feet.

"Stop," he pleaded. As much as he was now aware this wasn't Royce, he couldn't help but restrain himself when he would otherwise have retaliated. He expected his opponent to sneer at him, or laugh, but once again, he was surprised.

"I can't. I have to beat you," said the champion emotionlessly. 'Royce' grabbed Hadrian's arm and hooked a leg around his knee to upturn him. Forgetting that the person he was fighting was a lot bigger and stronger than they appeared, Hadrian was unbalanced, and he ended up wrestling to stay upright as pain shot through his chest this time. 

When his head was next to his opponent's as they folded over in a sort of scrum, he heard the other fighter whisper in his ear, in Royce's voice. 

"I'm sorry, but if I don't win, I'll die."

And Hadrian realised that Ugrell's new champion was no more willing than Hadrian had been. Hadrian now knew what to do. 

As the Royce look-alike punched him in the gut, Hadrian collapsed. 

The crowd cheered as their champion gained the advantage, and expected the fight to get more intense, but Hadrian didn't get up. He rolled onto his front and clambered onto his hands and knees as his opponent went for a kick to the stomach. He arched his back as the foot came in, avoiding most of the brunt of the kick but pretending to be badly injured. The doppelganger didn't notice, and neither did anyone else, all believing that Hadrian was taking a proper beating. 

Hadrian rolled away after the second kick and sat heavily down, his shoulders rounded in defeat. In truth, had it been his intention, Hadrian could have continued to fight, but he was glad that his plan gave him a rest, even if it would be more painful in the long run.

Behind him, the crowd booed and hissed, calling for him to get up and fight. He shivered as Ugrell's voice rose above the others, ordering the other fighter to drag Hadrian to his feet and finish him, and the champion followed the demand, hauling Hadrian up and hitting him again. Exhausted and unwilling to retaliate, Hadrian again moved just before the hit landed, softening the blow but appearing to take it. The crowd booed again at the lack of competition, and Ugrell's voice rose in frustration.

"Cage Master!"

Someone must have whispered in Ugrell's ear that the Cage Master was now incapacitated because Ugrell gave a roar.

"Someone else then, bring back the original entertainment planned for tonight. Sort out Galenti. I don't know what you did to him, but it was too much. No, don't put him with the other failures, throw him back in with his friend. Teach him what happens to fighters who don't even try."

Watching the door and keeping his distance from the sides of the cage, Hadrian was glad to hear that his plan had worked. Even better, he wouldn't be killed like the rest of the fighters who lost a round. If that had been the case, he would have feigned weakness until he could escape, as he had done once before. But being put back in the room with Royce gave him more time to think of a way to get them both out. And not having won, his unwilling opponent would not be punished for being beaten. 

A win win, he thought, until he realised that they would not be opening the cage to come and get him. They had learnt from last time. 

Even though he had stayed away from the edge of the cage, Hadrian heard a soft puff of air and something small and sharp hit him in the back, even as he took a punch to the face. Both of these things contributed to him falling sideways and hitting the cobblestones, unconscious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, next one coming up soon. 
> 
> As always, comments much appreciated.🙃


	11. Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce never had a problem with being so short until now. But things do seem to be on the up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you like it. All comments welcome.

Royce struggled to pull himself up again to take the pressure off his chest and allow him to take a breath. Each time it got harder and harder, and he hoped someone would soon realise he couldn't do it forever and would eventually just suffocate. Unless, of course, that was the idea. 

He heard a grunt to his right and opened his eyes - a much more difficult task than it should have been. Even though it was dark, he could still see well enough to make out Hadrian's form hanging in a similar way to Royce, hands strung above his head, but he was tall enough to have his feet resting on the ground, allowing him to breathe.

"Hadrian," Royce wheezed, not for the first time. He was prepared for silence, so was relieved when Hadrian groaned back.

"Hey, buddy."

"You Ok?"

"Spectacular. What happened?"

"Don't know much. You've been in and out of consciousness for a few hours. Don't think you were having a great time considering the yelling, but not sure what they were doing to you."

Royce dragged himself up for another gasping breathe. 

"Why do you sound like you can't breathe?" asked Hadrian, sounding very concerned, and slightly slurred, like he was drunk.

"I can't much, I'm hanging," Royce summarised, regretting not for the first time that Hadrian's eyesight was so awful. "Memory's foggy but did you drop me?"

"In truth, it wasn't my fault. I actually caught you, and then they knocked me out with something, so I'm assuming I dropped you at that point. Sorry."

"Are you? I made you come in here and got you caught."

He heard Hadrian sigh. "Yeah, you did. But I didn't do a very good job of rescuing you."

"No, you were shit." Royce struggled again for air, scrabbling his feet up the wall to try and find a foot hold. He caught a shallow nook with his ankle and enjoyed a few seconds of relief before the rock crumbled. 

"Did you find Sir Caelum?" asked Hadrian hopefully. 

"He was never here," said Royce. "No idea where he is, and we are sitting ducks for the Westerlin assassins."

"He was never here? But that makes no sense."

"Thanks," growled Royce. "I worked that out."

"But The Crimson Hand and the old potato seller both said-"

Royce waited for Hadrian to finish, but all he heard was, "Shit."

"What?" wheezed Royce, only managing half a breath this time, and trying not to panic.

"Hang on."

"If that's supposed to be funny," began Royce.

"Sorry. Here."

Royce saw Hadrian lunge awkwardly towards him. As he felt his lungs strain for more than the half-gasps he was reduced to, Royce struggled to keep his eyes open.

"Stand on my knee," said Hadrian. Royce continued to struggle for air, but managed to get his foot onto Hadrian's knee and pull himself up, taking the pressure off his chest and sucking in a precious lungful of damp, cold air.

"Better?" asked Hadrian. Royce agreed and urged Hadrian to continue with his previous thought.

"The potato seller. He had a cart full of potatoes," said Hadrian, as though everything was now crystal clear.

"He was a potato seller. Of course he had a cart full of fucking potatoes," Royce hissed incredulously. "Are you still concussed?"

"Probably," shrugged Hadrian. "But my point is, the cart was full. They don't grow potatoes in Trent, or Westerlins. The climate isn't right."

"Which is why there was a potato seller, selling potatoes to them," said Royce slowly, as though speaking to a small child. 

"But he was going the wrong way."

Royce felt like he had been slapped in the face. Hadrian was right. Of course he was right. 

If the potato seller was going north to sell his wares to the people in Trent, he would travel North with a full cart, sell all his potatoes in places like Lanksteer and Lontarch, and then return South with an empty, or near empty, cart. The seller they had spoken to had been heading back south, presumably having just come from Lanksteer, and yet didn't look to have sold a single potato.

"Shit," said Royce, echoing Hadrian. "You think that was Sir Caelum?"

"What better way to escape a country that hates you than by mugging an innocent potato seller and stealing his cart? No-one would ever give him a second look. We didn't."

"He was so old. I expected someone in their prime. I bet he wasn't deaf, either. And I bet he figured out we had taken the box by mistake. He probably laughed his head off when he sent us here. He could lead the assassins in completely the wrong direction while he disappeared through Trent."

"What are we going to do?" asked Hadrian. "The assassins from Westerlins will be here any minute now, I expect, unless by some stroke of luck, they are tracking the two guards I tricked into touching the box. But we are closer to the boarder with Westerlins than they are."

"We need to get out of here before we do anything," Royce pointed out. He suddenly slid off Hadrian's leg, causing him to choke and struggle before he managed to clamber back up. "How did you escape last time?"

"I pretended to be unconscious, and when they dragged me out of the cage, I fought in some frenzied panic and managed to get out. It was less crowded that day, so there were fewer spectators to get past. It won't work anymore, though. They drugged me before bringing me out of the cage so they don't have the same problem again. We need a new plan."

"If it involves anyone needing to be unconscious, I'll volunteer," Royce offered, struggling to stop himself sliding off Hadrian's leg again. "I'm almost there as it is."

"Hang in there, Royce," Hadrian urged, trying to get closer to help Royce stay on. Royce knew Hadrian couldn't see him in the dark but he hoped he sensed the glare. 

"What?" asked Hadrian innocently. 

"/Hang in there/?" seethed Royce. His hands had been numb since the start, but now he was losing the feeling in his feet, making it more and more difficult to keep steady. "It wasn't funny the first time."

"Sorry. Neither time was intentional. Just hold on. Is that better?"

"Not particularly," sighed Royce, sliding off once again. He gasped as his body jerked, and lost what little air he had had in his lungs. He tensed his arms but didn't have the strength to pull himself up again. He tried to swing to find Hadrian's leg again, but only managed to kick it pathetically.

"Royce?" Hadrian called out, unable to see what was going on. "You Ok, buddy?"

"Nope," Royce managed, feeling his eyes close. 

"Stay awake, Royce," Hadrian demanded. "Come on, you've got to stay awake. Don't make me go back to Gwen and have to tell her that you couldn't stick hanging around for a while."

Royce huffed at the joke, but the image of Gwen filled his aching head. She was curled up in the swing seat on the porch of Medford House, in a pale blue dress to match her beloved building. He smiled as the image got clearer even as his head pounded more and his chest strained for air that he couldn't get. 

"Hey! Hey, someone help! One of your fighters is dying. Quick, before you lose one of your best competitors."

Hadrian's desperate shouting broke the picture like a stone thrown into a pond, sending ripples through the reflection. Gwen disappeared and Royce realised he was still trapped in the manor house.

And he was suffocating. 

His lungs contracted but couldn't open up properly, leaving him to choke and gasp. He tried once more to pull himself up for a breath, but even in the desperation of death, he couldn't do it. 

Swinging again, Royce hit Hadrian's leg, realising that his friend was straining to reach further and help him, all the while still yelling for help.

"He's too short, you bastards, he can't reach the floor and he's suffocating. Get him a box or something, or by Mar, I will break out of these chains and throttle you all."

The threats didn't seem to have any effect because no-one came. Royce struggled less and less, until he couldn't even try for breath anymore, and he felt himself slide into oblivion.

But it was mere seconds before he was slapped awake by a huge hand, and he found himself gasping for air, but finding it. He filled his lungs in relief, drinking the air like soup. Whoever has slapped him grumbled and grunted, before leaving the room again, taking the torch with him. As he left, Royce saw Hadrian watching him anxiously, and when Royce nodded, Hadrian heaved a sigh of relief.

"Thought I'd lost you for a second there, buddy. How's the box?"

Royce looked down at his feet and saw that he was standing on some sort of crate, placed on its side so that he could stand normally with some slack in the chains. 

"A little humiliating, but better than nothing," smirked Royce, breathing heavily. "I'm surprised they listened to you and didn't just leave me to die."

"I was complementary to your fighting prowess. They decided it might be a waste to let you hang like a wet kipper."

"Well, now that I'm not dead, any ideas on how to get us out of this hell hole?"

"I thought you were the smart one, and I was the big thick guy that was good with the sword?" said Hadrian.

"You're not that good," Royce smiled. "Alright, so what do we know? The potato seller we met was actually Sir Caelum. We don't know where he was going, but he must be at least four days travel into Avryn by now."

"The king of Westerlins obviously thought that he was going to be in the town we were in, because that's where he sent the weird driverless carriage," Hadrian continued.

"Hang on," said Royce, trying to concentrate, even though his head still pounded. "The only reason we came this way in the first place was because we had information saying Sir Caelum was visiting a Viscount or Duke up here."

"But he wasn't. He wasn't even meeting a Warlord."

"No, but The Crimson Hand sent us up here. They told me he was going North of Lanksteer. The potato seller told us the exact same thing."

"He was just trying to get us as far away as possible, wasn't he?" asked Hadrian. But Royce wasn't convinced.

"He didn't hesitate. He knew the name of the town, although we don't actually know the name of this place. But then again, where else can he have meant? Anyway, he didn't hesitate. Quoted it like some sort of messenger. Like he was expecting us to ask."

"You think he knew we had already spoken to The Crimson Hand? You think they were in on it together?"

"It wouldn't surprise me in the slightest. What if the reason the King hates this knight so much is becuase Sir Caelum has got in with a thieves' guild, and one from Avryn at that? So the King waits until Sir Caelum is in the town to meet with The Hand, and sends his little messenger with one of his charming boxes."

"But the knight gets delayed, or the messenger is too fast, and she gets there before him," continued Hadrian, beginning to understand. "The Crimson Hand see what's going on, and warn the knight to stay away while they sort it all out for him. We happened to take the box, perfect for them, and they realise they can kill two birds with one stone."

"Us being the birds," said Royce grumpily. He didn't often regret his choices, but he had to admit, taking the box had been a bad move. "The Hand think everything is sorted when we ride off and almost kill each other, but when we come back to town, they decide to send us on some wild goose chase up in the north of Trent, and warn their Westerlin traitor friend to keep up the ruse and send us instead to death by violent mutilation at the hands of some crazy ass warlord."

"We are idiots, aren't we?" said Hadrian, nonchalantly. "To trust a single word The Crimson Hand tell us."

"I thought I had been sufficiently threatening to get a real answer out of them."

"In that case, you're going soft," smiled Hadrian. 

"Fuck off."

Royce heard Hadrian chuckle. 

"It's all well and good having figured out how we ended up in this shitty situation, but it doesn't change the fact that we are still here."

"Alright, keep your hair on," smiled Hadrian. "There has to be some way out."

"Why?"

"What?"

"Why does there /have/ to be a way? Why can't it be an inescapable fortress?"

"Because that would be pessimistic, Royce. And I am not a pessimist, despite how much time I've spent in your company."

"Neither am I. I'm a realist, and you are a fantasist."

"So you're giving up?"

"Did I say that? Now, give me your boot."

"My boot?" repeated Hadrian. 

"Are you deaf as well as an idiot now? Yes, your boot."

"What's wrong with your boots?"

"They're not stylish enough. Just give it here, asshole."

Hadrian worked his boot off his foot and hooked it on the end of his toe, holding it out to Royce. Royce grabbed it with his feet, and managed to use the strength he had been slowly regaining to draw his knees up to his chest and pull himself up so he could grab the shoe with his hand.

"What in Maribor's name are you doing?" asked Hadrian, who could only hear the clinking of the chains.

"Proving you right, although that's not my primary ambition."

"You do surprise me."

Royce fiddled with the boot until he had managed to undo the two buckles on the side. Using the pins from the fastening, he inserted them into the lock of his manacles.

"What are you doing?" 

"By Mar, you're impatient. I am having to improvise here. If I could reach my proper tools, this would be a lot quicker. As it is, I've also got to compete with the stink of your boots. Seriously, I'm surprised they haven't walked off on their own."

"No need to be rude. You have to remember I'm blind here. I can't see what you're doing, so cut me a little slack if I'm curious."

Royce wasn't listening to Hadrian's moaning because he had just heard a click, and when he pulled his arms down, he heard chain scraping, and then he was free. Sort of. 

His hands were still manacled together, but the manacles were no longer chained half way up a wall. With a little more movement, Royce was able to reach inside his pocket and pull out his proper lock pick set. In no time, he was out of the hand cuffs.

"That sounded hopeful," remarked Hadrian, as the chains clattered to the floor. 

"That's because I'm the smart one," smirked Royce, dragging over the crate so he could climb up and reach Hadrian's hands.

"Please tell me you can see me now," huffed Royce, barely a foot from Hadrian's face. He set to work on the fighter's chains.

"Unless there is another grumpy looking half elf glaring at me, then I'd say I can see you now," Hadrian grinned.

"I don't have to free you, you know," Royce grumbled, even as the second cuff clicked open.

"How very generous of you," said Hadrian, rubbing his aching wrists. "I guess it's time for my part now."

"Your part?" asked Royce, hopping lightly down from the box and spotting something in a dark corner of the room.

"Well, like you said, you're the smart one, which just leaves me to beat the living shit out of some people."

"In which case, you might like these."

Royce grabbed the objects in the corner and handed them carefully to Hadrian, who only needed a second to feel the weight of them to know exactly what they were. He strapped on the belt, leaving the two handed long sword in his grasp.

"Ready?" he said.

"Do you even have to ask?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will be a little longer til the next chapter, though hopefully nowhere near as long as it has been.


	12. Clashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce and Hadrian are free from the chains but they still have to get out of the fort, which is made more difficult by differing priorities.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! 
> 
> It's back. Sorry for the delay, but that's going to be the norm at the moment. I will still be updating though, for anyone still following it. 
> 
> Sorry for the title, I know it stinks, but couldn't think of anything else.
> 
> Hope you enjoy! As always, love to read any comments.

Hadrian wasn't too worried about being in the dark. For one, he now had his swords back in his possession, and he could fight perfectly well without being able to see his opponent. For another, he had Royce, and no matter how much Royce complained about him, Hadrian knew his friend would not let him get into trouble. 

He could sense Royce next to him, waiting and listening. Hadrian listened too and heard the faint sound of voices in the hall next door. It seemed that the second fight had finished a while ago, and that ale had been brought in, inevitably turning the gathering into something of a brawl in itself. Insults would be thrown, pride wounded, and punches thrown. 

A good distraction. 

Hadrian recalled that the room they were in only led to two places; the great hall and the corridor. They were the only ones held in this room so there had to be more prisons or dungeons somewhere nearby, so that the fighters could be easily brought in or dragged away.

Hadrian heard Royce move towards the corridor exit, and felt an impatient hand drag him a few steps forward when he didn't move.

"Come on," hissed Royce. "While they're too drunk to notice."

The two of them crept to the door and Royce snuck out to scout around.

"Wait for my signal," he whispered, disappearing out of sight through the narrow crack of the door. Hadrian waited obediently, expecting the sound of a body thumping to the floor, followed by a summons. 

Instead, he heard Royce swear, then the sound of metal on metal. 

Taking this as the new signal, Hadrian charged out of the torture chamber and into the fray. Two guards had been dutifully standing outside the great hall, whether acting as waiters or protection, Hadrian didn't know. Either way, they now both had swords drawn, and were backing Royce against a wall. Always a bad idea.

"Gentlemen," greeted Hadrian, and one turned enough to give Royce the opportunity to lunge at him. The guard who had not turned towards Hadrian, had a head like a potato and was quicker than he looked for his massive size. He intercepted, forcing Royce to change tactics. 

Hadrian left potato head in Royce's more-than-capable hands and crossed blades with his own guard, who had such a massive, crooked nose, it must have been broken at least three times. Taking this as a clue that he wasn't good at protecting his face, Hadrian aimed low, drawing his opponents blade even further down. He was a strong guy, and much more competent than the other guards Hadrian had faced that day. It seemed he was fighting a much more professional soldier, with decent training.

Watching the guy move, Hadrian noted how unfairly light on his feet he was. For someone over seven foot and built like a brick shithouse, he was bouncy and light, always on the toes of his massive feet. But Hadrian was also quick, and not just with his feet but with his arms too.

Hadrian blocked a series of well aimed attacks, dodging a few where he couldn't parry. He stayed in close, not allowing his opponent the advantage of his longer reach, and at the first sign that this giant was tiring - a bead of sweat on his forehead - Hadrian turned from defence to attack. 

Left thigh. Right hip. Left foot stamp. Hadrian didn't let up for a second, his sword looking like molten metal as it blurred through the air. He was still occasionally feeling the stabs of pain from the remains of the snake venom, but it was much more workable than before, and his opponent looked exactly as he should.

Eventually, inevitably, the big guy made a mistake, falling for Hadrian's feint and protecting his stomach as Hadrian's real attack came for his head. The guard reeled as the flat of Hadrian's sword smacked him across the jaw with the force of huge rock being hurled at him, and Hadrian finished the job with a simple thrust to the body. The giant crumpled to his knees, his head hanging loosely, and then slumped sideways against the wall.

Not waiting to watch this, Hadrian turned to check up on Royce. There seemed to be a lot of rolling going on as Royce dodged the attacks from a man with twice his reach, and it conjured up the image for Hadrian of watching a hedgehog avoiding the striking bites of a snake. Hadrian quickly reminded himself that hedgehogs were not defenceless, as Royce finally got a window of opportunity and sprung into a low lung, sticking potato head right in the gut. Before he could react, Royce moved forward and slit his throat for good measure.

"We aren't going to get out of here quietly, but if we hurry, we might avoid most of the well trained ones," Royce observed, cleaning Alverstone on his tunic. "Keep up."

Royce made to sprint for the main door at the other end of the corridor, but he must have sensed Hadrian's hesitation because he stopped and face palmed.

"Whatever you are about to say, I know it's going to be some noble shit, so just keep it to yourself and forget it." Royce looked at Hadrian's set jaw and folded arms. "You're not going to forget it, are you?"

"I'm not going to keep it to myself either. The guy I had to fight in the cage. We need to get him out too."

"You mean, the guy that tried to kill you with his bare hands? Yes, that sounds like a wonderful idea. Why didn't I think of that? Oh, wait. Because I'm not a brainless, self-sacrificing, noble ass."

"You know I take that as a compliment."

"I must have said it wrong."

"But I'm being serious. We need to get him out. He doesn't want to be here anymore than I did. And we'd better hurry up with a decision because we will start attracting a crowd any minute. I guess the guests are too drunk to notice the missing guards, but anyone else that turns up won't be. Please, Royce."

"Don't beg, it doesn't suit you. Come on then, this way."

Hadrian could hear Royce cursing him under his breath as they ran, calling Hadrian every filthy name he could think of. They took back passages and cut through empty chambers, always heading in the general direction of the back of the great hall, and Royce kept up a steady stream of curses, never once repeating an insult. It was quite impressive.

Finally, once they seemed to have done a very backward loop of the ground floor, they came to a locked door with had to be another antechamber of the great hall. The drunken noises from the hall could just be heard through the key hole, and once Royce had it open, they amplified again. 

"Hello?" called Hadrian into the darkness.

"Announce us, why don't you?" grumbled Royce, slowly stepping inside.

"What do you see?"

"A living corpse and a half dead chambermaid."

"What?"

Hadrian opened the door as wide as it would go to let on more light, and could just make out two figures against the wall with their arms dragged up in chains as Hadrian and Royce had been. Even in the dim light, Hadrian could see why Royce said they looked like dead bodies, with their waxy skin and the splattering of blood all over them, covering their ragged clothes and bare skin.

But Hadrian could hear both of their raspy breathing, so knew they weren't dead yet. They weren't far off, though.

"Ok. Wake up, or I will leave," Royce announced dryly. "You have ten seconds before I undo these chains so you either pull yourself together and take your own weight, or you fall on your face. One."

Royce continued to count as Hadrian gave him a leg up so he could reach the chains. The female prisoner stirred herself and was able to keep her balance when her arms were set free. Her clothes were not at all fancy, but she was not a chambermaid. From her build, more like a farmer or labourer of some kind. She looked like a strong woman gone quickly to ruin through continued starvation and beatings, not to mention any methods used to weaken her for fights. But she grimaced and straightened herself up, dragging her matted hair out of her face as she watched Royce release her fellow inmate.

He faired less well, unable to take all of his own weight initially, and crashing to his knees. From the size of him, Hadrian figured this must have been the man he had been fighting when he had thought it was Royce in the cage. He suspected the poor guy had under gone some severe punishment for not finishing Hadrian off when he had the chance. The woman must have been the second fight, her opponent having lost and been disgraced.

"Can you walk?" asked Hadrian, offering the man a hand and pulling him to his feet. He took a moment to steady himself, then nodded.

"Not fast, but yes, I think so," he agreed. The woman put his arm around his shoulder and helped him. Hadrian went to help too, but the woman stopped him.

"No. You have weapons, and I'd assume you know how to use them, since you have three. You protect us, and I'll look after this one. Just get us out alive."

"If we've all finished having a chit-chat," drawled Royce. He turned to Hadrian. "Are they drunk enough to sneak past?"

Hadrian knew he was talking about the guests in the great hall, accessible though a door in the corner.

"How am I supposed to know?" he asked, mildly indignant. Royce shrugged.

"Well, I would have thought it was your area of expertise. They're hardly likely to get hammered on Montemorcey, otherwise I would offer my services."

Hadrian huffed loudly to make sure Royce knew just how annoyed he was, but nevertheless, he put an ear to the door and listened carefully.

There was a smash of glass and a cheer rose up from a few of the guests, along with snatches of a drinking song, which was then picked up by a few others. This, and the sounds of yet another argument-turned-brawl, led Hadrian to think that even if they couldn't escape unnoticed, the reaction to their appearance would be sluggish at best. From the guests, at least. The guards would not be so slow.

Hadrian told Royce as much, and he nodded thoughtfully, eying up their company.

"I don't suppose releasing these two from their chains was enough for you, was it?" he grumbled at Hadrian. "You'll want to get them out of the keep, probably help them escape Trent, and set up a sheep farm or something. Wait until they are fully settled down with three kids and a family pet before you are content that we've done enough."

"There's no need to exaggerate, Royce," Hadrian chided. "Yes, we have to help them get out of the town and safe away from here. Just tell us how to do it."

"Well, they can't run, and I don't think he'll make it the long way round. We'll have to make a break for it."

Royce explained his sketchy plan and got into position by the door to the great hall. Taking a deep breath, he stole out and began to make his way silently through the crowd, moving as inconspicuously as a shadow. Keeping to the middle of the room, he managed to avoid the guards still posted around the room, although they also seemed to have snuck in a few pints while on duty. 

Once he was safely on the other side of the room, he approached one of the guards, hood down, all sweet and innocent. Or as close as it got with Royce. 

After a few lies about being a monk, dressed in the special black robes and cloak of a made up monastery in the south, Royce explained that he was a guest of Ugrell, but utterly lost around the manor.

As hoped, the guard followed Royce out to the corridor, and Hadrian didn't need to see or hear anything to know that Royce had killed him. A couple of minutes later, Royce slipped back though the crowd with the basic armour and weaponry from the dead guard.

Quickly, Hadrian put on the costume and found that, thankfully, it almost fit. They had chosen the smaller guard for a reason. In the uniform, Hadrian waited as Royce re-shackled the two prisoners, grabbing the manacles from the chains and resealing them around the wrists of their companions. 

Once they were all ready, Royce slipped out once more into the crowd, keeping a close eye on Hadrian's progress as he made himself as tall as possible and herded his prisoners forwards, the woman still supporting her friend. 

They were half way around the outside of the room when one of the more coherent guards pulled them to a halt. 

"Hang on. You aren't Melrug," he stated, confused.

"Of course not, idiot, I'm Hellion," Hadrian quickly invented. "Melrug went out just now. Busy, like. I'm taking the prisoners out to the rest of the ones who lost."

"But those two won. Or at least didn't lose. I thought Ugrell wanted them kept."

"Changed his mind, didn't he? He wants them gone. He must have a few left to work with."

"Hellion? Never heard of you."

Hadrian continued to usher his wards along as he spoke, getting closer and closer to the door. He could almost taste freedom. 

"Haven't been here long," he replied. "We have met, you probably just don't remember. You have had a fair amount of ale, I'd wager."

"I'm not drunk," argued the guard, even as he stumbled. "I know we haven't met. Wait." Hadrian averted his face but it was too late. "Galenti."

Hadrian knew they were caught, and the guard raised his voice, shouting to the other guards, "Galenti and the prisoners are escaping. Quick!"

As Hadrian had predicted, the call to arms from the guests was slow, half of them oblivious to the shout at all. A lot of Ugrell's guards, too, were uninterested. But the personal guards, clearly having been refused a drink, sprang to action and gave chase.

Luckily, Hadrian had drifted close enough to the door that the man and the woman could make it out before the fighting began. Hadrian saw Royce flank the main group of guards and surprise them with his attack from behind, while the others headed towards Hadrian.

Being stationed with rich nobles who barely went out and never did anything remotely warranting protection, the bodyguards had grown lazy and slow from lack of activity. Shear numbers made them a threat, but their skill was not up to Crooked Nose Guy's talent with a sword. Hadrian was able to beat off their advances, not risking any of his own since he didn't need to.

Driving him out of the door, Hadrian was happy to keep himself safe while being pushed back towards the exit. The other escaped prisoners were already there, and Royce slipped through the crowd to get to the front and take care of any attacks from there. Beating off hit after predictable hit, Hadrian stayed vigilant but submissive at the main doors, while Royce slipped outside and took care of the two guards there before taking the prisoners down through the town.

Blocking a particularly good strike to the head, Hadrian waited until he was sure Royce and their companions were safe out of the bottom gate before pushing back for a second and then making a break for it, twisting and launching off his back foot to sprint down the hill.

The thunder of feet followed him, but slowed cautiously in the snow and slush now blanketing the ground. Hadrian threw all caution to the winds and, not having to worry about crashing into one of his friends, stepped into the slide as he felt it coming. Skidding down the path was terrifying but exhilarating, and Royce was waiting for him at the bottom of the hill.

"They're on my horse, we'll both have to take yours. You ready?"

Hadrian nodded as he staggered to a halt near the brazier which had melted some of the snow, and regained his balance. But as he turned towards the gate, he saw something over Royce's shoulder which made his stomach drop, even though he had been expecting it for a fair few days now.

"Hadrian," warned Royce, oblivious to the sight behind him and pointing up the hill. "Ugrell's here and he looks pretty pissed."

Hadrian imagined the image of the furious warlord, but didn't take his eyes off his own scene.

"Royce," warned Hadrian. "The Westerlin assassins are here and they look /extremely/ pissed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! The assassins have finally arrived! 
> 
> Hopefully some chaos next chapter. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone so far who has read/liked/left a comment. It means a lot that people actually want to read this stuff. I hope not to disappoint!


	13. Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce and Hadrian may have escaped the fort, but things still aren't going their way. Frying pan and fire spring to mind...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter up, and another to come in the next few days!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has commented, it really makes my day to know people are enjoying the story.
> 
> Apologies in advance for any mistakes or typos.
> 
> Enjoy!

Royce froze at Hadrian's words. He didn't take his eyes off the warlord charging towards them like an angry bull, but now that Hadrian had pointed it out, he could hear the thundering of hooves from behind them as well. 

Clearing his mind of apprehension, Royce turned to the matter at hand. He was, after all, a practical man. The odds of the situation were stacked against them, admittedly: they were being attacked from both sides; they had two injured companions whom Hadrian insisted on protecting, so he would be pissed if Royce let them die; they had no advantages in the landscape, which offered nothing at all in the way of cover or alternative weaponry. 

Essentially, they were two blokes, standing in a field, awaiting a slaughter.

Determined not to go out without a fight, Royce put on his best scowl, gripped Alverstone tightly, and backed up a few steps until he sensed Hadrian just behind him.

"Any ideas?" his friend asked, and Royce heard him scrape his swords together nervously. 

"This was your rescue plan," pointed out Royce.

"You're supposed to be the smart one, remember?"

"Shame you didn't remember that twenty minutes ago, when I suggested we run and leave these two useless gits."

"You ready?"

"Might as well make a scene. At least there's a chance of looking good as we get ourselves mutilated by two separate armies."

"That's the spirit."

Royce could tell by the sounds of hooves that there were at least a dozen riders, and in front of him, two dozen guards, plus Ugrell. Both sides would reach them within seconds of each other, so Royce remained facing the town, preparing himself to at least take a few of these barbarians with him. His main goal was to get to Ugrell. If he could kill the warlord who had tormented Hadrian so much, he could die... well, not exactly happy, but perhaps slightly smug.

Setting his glare directly on the massive man, and picturing all the ways he could end him, Royce took a deep breath and began his run.

Almost immediately, he had to skid to a halt in the snow to avoid being trampled by a huge horse.

The beast was pulled to a halt in front of him, and when he glanced around, Royce realised he and Hadrian were surrounded by riders, all of whom were facing away from them and outwards, towards Lontarch, if that was truly where they were. 

"Wha-" began Hadrian, but Royce backed up and elbowed him to shut him up. He was just as curious as Hadrian, but did not want to interrupt the intense staring contest which seemed to be taking place between the leader of the Westerlin assassins and Ugrell. 

"Step away from my prisoners," demanded Ugrell's booming voice, and Royce watched through a gap between the riders to see the warlord shove his own men aside to approach the assassin leader. 

"They are under the protection of the King," the leader declared. He was dressed in dull, almost green, metal plate armour, a dark green cloak draped over his shoulder. Royce could only see the back of his head, but it was protected by a brassy helm, decorated with deer antlers, which distinguished him from the other riders, who had smaller, less ornate horns.

"My name is Héothain, personal guard to His Majesty the King of Westerlins. You will release these two /men/-" he glanced briefly at Royce, who glowered fiercely and pulled up his hood "-and you will allow us to do with them as it pleases his Majesty. Unless you would like to incite a war between our two kingdoms."

Royce was confused. Weren't the two countries now friends? Then he remembered that the knight who had been praising Ugrell, whom he had mistaken for Sir Caelum, was actually from Melengar, meaning there was still conflict between Westerlins and Trent. 

Ugrell's glare faltered, and for the first time, Royce saw apprehension in his eyes. Although Ugrell had superior numbers in this battle, he could not beat a whole army, not without the support from the rest of Trent, which he would never get. 

"Why do you want them?" Ugrell asked.

"One of these men is a fugitive from justice. He used to be a King's knight but betrayed the kingdom and joined a thieves' guild. I suspect the little one, he looks suspicious."

"And what are you going to do with them? They are my fighters; they belong to me now."

"Incorrect, they belong to the Crown."

Royce was just starting to believe that they would get out of this. Being taken to the king wouldn't be so bad. At least it gave them plenty of opportunity to escape. Then Héothain finished speaking.

"His Majesty had requested we kill Sir Caelum as soon as we find him. We will not hesitate to kill anyone who gets in our way, either."

Less brilliant.

"I'm not letting them go that easily. They made me look like a fool, I want retribution," snarled Ugrell, his thundering voice causing a small avalanche further around the hill.

Héothain gestured to ten of his men, and they all rode forwards to block the gate of the town, forming a line to face down Ugrell and prevent his exit. Turning to the remaining assassin, who was directly in front of Hadrian, Héothain waved a casual hand.

"Kill whichever one is Caelum, and the other if he gets in the way."

Royce swivelled and was shocked to see the remaining Westerlin was the girl from the square, the one who had handed him the box. The one to whom he had declared himself Sir Caelum. 

The girl pulled out a crossbow, aimed it at Royce and, with no hesitation or pity, fired.

As soon as he had realised who the assassin was, Royce knew there was no way anyone would believe he was not Sir Caelum. He had claimed the name, and now the threat that had been looming since he had made that awful decision had finally arrived. 

His senses already heightened ready for combat, Royce watched the bolt coming towards his chest and pivoted sideways, offering a smaller target. At the same time, he reached out a hand and closed his fingers around the wooden shaft of the bolt, the tip scraping his palm as it sped towards him. He gripped it tightly and leant back, just in case, but he had succeeded in catching it.

He turned to Hadrian, who had watched this is fear and shock, and Royce reminded himself that while he had seen the bolt coming towards him in a sort of slow motion that made it feel like a few seconds had passed, Hadrian had witnessed it in the blink of an eye and was only just processing it. 

With a grin, Royce threw him the bolt even as he turned to leap at the assassin. It was as he turned his back that he felt something impact with his shoulder, and all feeling in his right arm vanished. Confused, Royce watched himself drop Alverstone in the snow as he paused in his movement. 

Glancing at Hadrian, he saw the same astonishment and fear he had noticed in his face moments earlier, but intensified tenfold. Royce didn't understand until he felt his knees hit the ground, his shoulder suddenly ignited with such pain it was blinding him.

"You owe me ten gold," he slurred, before the stark white scenery merged into one solid curtain and he vaguely registered toppling forwards.

*

Hadrian sincerely hoped the snow and his fear were playing tricks on him again, because else he really had just seen Royce catch a crossbow bolt fired at him from the front, only to be shot from behind a split second later.

He blinked and the scene in front of him did not change. Royce knelt on the ground, his blood gradually turning the snow crimson as he stared blankly at Hadrian.

"You owe me ten gold," Hadrian heard his friend mumble, before his eyes rolled back into his head and he pitched forward, completely boneless. 

From that moment, Hadrian only needed a second to compose himself, his soldiering instincts taking over his numb mind and lending strength and coordination to his heavy limbs. One thought etched itself before his eyes as his vision turned red. 

/Héothain just killed Royce./

A fury like he had rarely felt before burned in Hadrian's veins, and he let out an ungodly bellow as he leapt at the assassin leader, bringing his bastard sword above his head and then down towards Héothain's chest. 

The huge action gave him power, but it also broadcast his intentions for anyone to see, and Héothain had time to spur his horse forwards with a jolt, both man and beast avoiding the vicious strike. 

Undeterred, Hadrian brought up his other sword and twisted around, releasing the blade so that it flew, spinning through the air, towards the girl from the square, who had been in the process of reloading her crossbow. Not expecting an attack while Hadrian was over by her leader, the sword caught her completely unawares. 

Had she been a few metres closer, the blade would have sliced cleanly through her neck, but the slightly further distance caused the sword to over rotate and she was hit instead with the handle. It was still enough to unseat her from her horse as it struck her helm with a clang, and she disappeared from sight. 

Only mildly aware of this, Hadrian returned his attention to his real target, and he ran and leapt at Héothain, grabbing him from his horse with his free hand. The assassin leader kept his feet firmly in the stirrups as Hadrian hauled him back, causing the horse to stumble and rear. Hadrian persisted and finally managed to dislodge his enemy while he was unbalanced by the startled horse. 

Dragging him to the ground, Hadrian made to stab at Héothain and finish it, but the man rolled artfully away and got his feet under him. He drew a thin, flat blade which curved up to a long handle. Hadrian had seen such swords only rarely during his time as a soldier, and vaguely recalled people referring to them as katanas. He wouldn't like to find himself having to use one, but he was smart enough to know not to underestimate such a weapon, especially in the hands of someone who knew how to use it. 

The two men shared a few quick parries, and the exchange was enough to prove to Hadrian that he was right about Héothain being experienced with the sword. He was quick and precise in his movements, especially dangerous when he brought the sword straight down towards Hadrian's skull. Hadrian felt the force of the blow when he brought his own sword up horizontal to block the strike, and felt his arm shake with the impact. 

After a half dozen attacks, the two men retreated to circling one another, creating a trench in the snow. Hadrian didn't like snow because it was an unpredictable surface to fight on but he kept his footwork steady as he watched the man across the circle from him.

Every half turn he made, Hadrian caught sight of Royce's motionless body lying face down in the snow, and his blood boiled until he couldn't hold himself back any longer. 

With another roar, he charged at Héothain, this time keeping his movement smaller and quicker to give less away. 

"I'll kill you," he seethed. "You killed Royce, and I'm not going to let you get out of here. You will die on your knees."

Héothain didn't reply, but kept countering Hadrian's attacks, throwing in a few of his own, which were equally blocked. His silence only made Hadrian more furious, and he was fighting to keep a clear head and not forget all his training. 

"I swear, you will pay, and you will pay a hundred-fold for what you've done," he vowed, using a step-step-spin sequence which almost caught out his opponent, who only just managed to bring his sword up awkwardly to parry. Something whistled past Hadrian's ear, but he barely flinched, so focussed was he on his duel.

"No, he's mine," shouted Héothain, and Hadrian realised that one of the other assassins must have fired a crossbow at him. Hadrian was glad Héothain didn't want anyone to interfere. It was right that it should just come down to the two of them. 

The Westerlin took a powerful step forwards and employed another downward strike from above his head. Slightly better prepared this time, Hadrian was quicker to bring his own sword up and strengthen his arm for the force of the blow, dodging backwards too. But the second powerful hit was too much for Hadrian's bastard sword and the blade snapped cleanly away from the hilt, letting the attack through. 

Though somewhat dampened by the brief resistance of his sword, the strike still held a great deal of force as it landed on the top of Hadrian's skull. If he hadn't been wearing the uniform of Ugrell's guards, Hadrian would have been killed instantly, his skull cracked like an egg. But he still wore the helm from his disguise, which turned the fatal blow into a concussing one. The tip of the katana dented the metal and skidded downwards, leaving a shallow cut down Hadrian's forehead and cheek in its wake.

Reeling, and unsure how he was still on his feet, Hadrian's vision was compromised as blood poured down his face and into his eye, and he briefly forgot he didn't have a sword anymore. He raised the broken hilt, which didn't have so much as an inch of blade left on it, and completely misjudged the block as Héothain used Hadrian's step-step-spin combination against him. The sword came past Hadrian, under his arm, and Héothain drew it back, slicing a deep gash in Hadrian's flank.

Hadrian's legs gave out and he collapsed sideways, his vision, already blurred by blood and concussion, now wavering further as he fought to stay awake. He could feel his clothes growing damp as he lay on his side, willing himself to summon the energy to get to his feet. But his body would not respond more than to keep his eyes open, and he prepared himself for the finishing blow. Perhaps it wasn't so bad - Royce was the only friend he'd had, and Hadrian had failed to avenge him, so this seemed the only other way the situation was going to end. They had both been on borrowed time since the Crown Tower, so it had only been a matter of time before one of their jobs had got the better of them. 

Watching Héothain in dismay, Hadrian saw the man step back from him and turn his back. Instead of raising his sword to finish Hadrian, he was walking back to Royce's body. 

Hadrian's pounding head could not comprehend why Héothain would be preparing to stab a dead man. Then, somewhere in his befuddled mind, it clicked. 

Royce wasn't dead.

Yet.

How could Hadrian have been so blind? In his panic, all he had seen was the bolt pierce Royce's back with a spray of blood, and then his best friend fall lifeless, or so he had thought, to the ground. But as he studied Royce, he could see the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his shoulders. Was he hurt? Absolutely. Dying? Definitely. But dead? Not quite. 

But then Hadrian expanded his area of focus, and found Héothain, sword raised, ready to plunge the blade into Royce's ribs. That, Royce could not survive. 

Mustering every last ounce of his remaining strength, Hadrian clenched his jaw against the agony in his side as he reached a hand behind his back to grab his last remaining sword. He drew it with a moan of pain and used it to haul himself to his feet. He had never felt so heavy, so tired, but he had to get to Héothain. He just had to.

Hadrian staggered forwards, relying almost entirely on his sword to keep him upright as his head spun, but he kept going. Blood from his forehead ran into his eye and he wiped it away irritably with the back of his hand, but he kept going. Héothain was about to bring his sword down, but he kept going. He was within four feet of the assassin when he finally stopped and gripped his sword in preparation to save Royce. 

But as he raised the blade from the ground, he had nothing to lean on, and he stumbled to his knees beside Royce, letting out a cry of pain as his side was jarred. Hadrian lifted the sword again, and thrust towards Héothain, but he was nowhere near reaching the man, let alone having enough force to stop him. 

The assassin spared him a glance as he paused briefly, but could not be stopped, so Hadrian followed the only path left to him to save Royce. 

He collapsed on top of him.

Eyes closing and consciousness fleeing, Hadrian felt his body falling and made one last effort to put himself between Royce and the blade, praying that death would be swift.

His last moments of awareness were filled, not with increased agony, but with the sounds of clashing steel...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone still reading - hope you enjoyed. As ever, comments welcome, and I hope to update a lot quicker than I have been at the moment!


	14. Surgery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rescued from the warlord only to find their rescuers wanted by the King of Westerlins, Pasca and her brother are going to have to make some quick decisions if Riyria are to live long enough to appreciate their escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the continued support. 
> 
> Chapter 14 ready, and the next one in progress. Happy reading!

Pasca brought back the borrowed sword and lunged forwards, this time aiming for the assassin's chest, noting where the plates of the armour met and sliding the sword in with a sharp thrust. 

Caught by surprise, Héothain stared at her, eyes wide, until his mind and body caught up with one another and he slumped forwards onto the blade. Pasca kicked him back and used both hands to pull her sword free from the dead Westerlin, fully aware that he was not the only one who was a danger. 

Sure enough, she heard a cry of anger from one of the other assassins, so she wasted no time in running to her brother, who was still on the horse where she had left him.

"Treeve, I could really do with a hand right now," she shouted as she approached. Although he was still weak from his torture, the period of rest had allowed him to recover some of his strength, and Pasca just hoped it would be enough. 

She watched as Treeve uncurled himself from his hunched position and raised his arms, his fingers dancing lightly as though he were playing a harp. His eyes were closed but he was muttering to himself, his voice getting louder and stronger as he was drawn further into his spell.

Pasca wasted no more time in running to the other horse and dragging it to their two injured rescuers. Behind her, she could feel the wind picking up and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw the snow starting to whip around in the currents of air, distorting her vision in the quickly fading light. It was not enough to stop the assassins, or Ugrell and his men, but Treeve wasn't finished yet.

Turning her attention back to the blond man, Pasca gently lifted him off his friend so she could assess the damage quickly and get them on the horse. The bigger man, the swordsman, was bleeding heavily from his side, and Pasca quickly ripped up Héothain's cloak to make bandages, tying off the wound and eliciting a weak moan of discomfort from the man. His face was also bleeding steadily, but the cuts didn't look deep so she wiped the worst of the blood away and then lay the man down in the snow so she could take a look at the other one.

The ground beneath Pasca's feet began to tremble, and she spared a glance behind her again. Eight of the assassins were still guarding the gate, while two had broken off and were heading towards her. They stopped as the shaking and rumbling grew louder, and when they noticed Pasca looking past them, they also turned.

A wall of snow was thundering down the hill of the town, gathering speed as it grew. Ugrell's guards were the first to be swept up in it, having no time to avoid its deadly path, and the mass of white continued down the slope, consuming trees and people with equal ferocity. 

The Westerlins' horses bucked and shied beneath their riders and crashed into each other in their panic to escape. None of the eight assassins avoided the avalanche as it raced through the gates, knocking down the horses like dominoes on a pub table.

Pasca and the two assassins who had been approaching her all stared in shock as the scene played out. The only person who wasn't surprised was Treeve who, having used up his last reserves, slumped forwards onto the horse's neck, panting with exertion. 

The two assassins were at a loss for what to do, internally debating whether there was any hope of saving any of their colleges. They shared a look between them, then both glared at Pasca. Apparently, they had decided revenge and duty had to come first. 

Looking desperately around for the sword she had thrown aside after killing Héothain, Pasca spotted it near a two handed spadone. Realising it was the third sword belonging to the blond man, Pasca considered picking that one up instead, but reasoned it would be difficult to wield and not worth the extra reach, so she grabbed the broad sword again and scrambled to her feet. 

The assassin on the left reached her first, his red hair whipping behind him in the wind which was picking up. He leapt off his horse and lunged furiously at her with a sword identical to Héothain's, and she beat him back, swinging at his arm and hearing a satisfying crack as she struck his wrist. 

As he fell back a step, the other one reached them, an older blonde woman with steely grey eyes and a sneer of hatred painted on her face. She dismounted and unleashed a volley of fast, harsh attacks, landing a hit to the ribs which didn't break skin but left Pasca winded and bruised. 

Pasca retaliated, her sword singing through the air as she twisted and circled, drawing her opponent's arm away enough to land small but significant strikes. Patiently, she waited for an opening, which finally came in the form of a small stumble. Pasca took advantage of the distraction to get under the woman's guard and deliver a merciless thrust to the chest.

She had no time to appreciate her victory before the red-haired man was back, his sword held gingerly in his other hand. Although she was tiring, Pasca managed to disarm him as he tried to block a powerful hit to his face, and she knocked the blade from his hand and finished the attack.

Chest heaving painfully, Pasca dropped back down beside the man in black, giving herself a moment for the adrenaline to dissipate and to catch her breath. 

"Treeve?" she shouted to her brother. "Update?"

"There will be survivors; it's not as deep as it looks," he called back weakly, riding over to her. "We need to move. Now."

"Get the big one on the other horse," Pasca ordered, trying to work out what to do with the other man. A crossbow bolt was buried in his back and she could hear his shallow breathing, but she daren't pull it out before having a proper look at the damage. So, she padded around the wound and tied the bandages in place to stem the worst of the blood seeping from the wound. 

Together, Pasca and Treeve managed to haul the big one, whom Treeve said was called Galenti, onto a horse, drawing moans of pain from him with every jolt and tug. He slumped in the saddle, lying across the horse's neck, but it didn't seem to mind.

The small man was a lot easier to manhandle into the saddle, but he didn't utter a single sound even though the pain must have been extortionate. Pasca made Treeve ride behind him while she rode with Galenti since she was lighter. She made sure to pick up the spadone and the broad sword, as well as the strange dagger the hooded man had brandished. 

Pasca urged the horse forward, regretting that they had to keep up a fair pace for the first leg of the journey. She knew it would cause the injured men much discomfort and would tire the horses, but she wanted to put as much distance between them and the avalanche's victims as possible. 

As they set out, Pasca looked back to see movement in the snow, suggesting that already some of the assassins were escaping the drift and would soon be on their trail.

*

They rode hard until they reached Lanksteer, by which time night had fallen and they could barely see. Treeve almost collapsed in relief when the city lights came into sight. He glanced at his sister to confirm this would be their destination, but Pasca shook her head. 

"We can't risk stopping here," she explained. "The Westerlins aren't far behind and they will find us too easily if we stop in the city."

"Then where?" asked Treeve. "The horses can't go much further, and these two even less."

He nodded to his ward, who was as motionless as before. But the man's breathing had been getting more and more laboured throughout their journey, and Treeve was starting to think that they had not saved him, only delayed his death. 

He saw Pasca worrying her bottom lip, but could tell her mind was set. 

"When we reach the border, we can stop in a town properly. Until then, we need to stay hidden, otherwise people will talk. We'll camp in those woods up ahead, there's an outcrop of rock leading up towards the mountain. You never know, we might even be lucky and find a cave to sleep in."

Treeve could understand the logic, so he sighed and nudged his horse towards the trees.

As they had hoped, the foot of the mountain spread into the forest and they found a small cavern where they could shelter themselves and their horses. The two men's camping equipment was still in the saddlebags so Pasca collected wood for a fire while Treeve laid out blankets to make meagre beds. They laid their injured companions close to the fire and Treeve helped his sister prepare them for a proper examination. 

Galenti was stripped of the armour disguise as well as his jerkin and shirt. Divested of all his garments, the wound to his side could be seen in its full disgusting glory. 

"See if they've got a needle and thread in their bags," ordered Pasca, tying a new bandage around the man as a temporary measure while she turned her attention to her other patient. 

"I already checked, there will only be enough thread for one of them," said Treeve in dismay, bringing over the limited medical supplies he had found in the saddlebags. 

"They will both need their wounds closing," said Pasca, her voice steady but her eyes betraying her anxiety. 

"Keep it for him."

Treeve and Pasca looked at each other, and realising neither of them had spoken, listened again for the voice. 

"What did you say?" asked Pasca, when there was silence. 

"Keep the thread for Royce."

It was Galenti who had spoken. Treeve waved his sister away, letting her continue to tend to the small man, and he crouched by the blond one. 

"You're awake," Treeve observed, half wishing he wasn't so he could escape the pain for a little longer.

"Just about," breathed the man, his breath hitching as each inhale pulled at his side. "Royce, is he alive?"

"Just about," echoed Treeve, glancing over. "Are you Galenti?"

"Name's Hadrian," he said, moaning in pain and screwing up watering eyes. His face was still bleeding too, so Treeve washed the cut gently.

"Well, Hadrian. All three of us here seem to owe you our lives, so Pasca and I will do everything we can to save yours."

"No," said Hadrian, forcefully. "Royce. Take care of him first. And stitch his wound."

Treeve agreed in order to placate the agitated man, and Hadrian fell into a slumber. Content enough to leave the man for a minute, Treeve joined his sister instead. 

"We'd better save him, or Hadrian will kill us," he told her. "What do you want me to do?"

Pasca had cut open Royce's tunic from the back in order to get a better look at the entry wound. Two thirds of the bolt was buried between his spine and the shoulder blade on his right side. It had pierced the ribcage and from the sounds of his breathing, something serious was wrong in there. 

"I need to get this bolt out, which will cause the wound to bleed a lot," she told him. "From the sounds of it, there's fluid in his lungs. It wasn't so bad earlier but the trip has made it worse. We'll need to drain it somehow."

Treeve gathered clean linen to stem the blood as Pasca prepared to pull out the bolt. 

"Hold him still," she ordered, grasping the bolt shaft.

"He's still unconscious," Treeve pointed out. 

"Yeah, well, he won't be once I start pulling."

Treeve braced Royce's shoulders and nodded to his sister, who took a deep breath and pulled.

The scream was horrific, and Treeve was worried Pasca would hesitate, but she clenched her jaw and pulled the bolt all the way out. Treeve had trouble holding Royce down as he convulsed in agony and shock, but quickly pressed a wad of linen over the wound once the bolt was free, and it didn't take long for Royce to pass out again. 

"Alright, clean that white dagger and sterilise it in the fire, I'll need it to clear his lungs," stated Pasca, her hands shaking slightly as she took over from Treeve. He did as he was asked, noting how brightly the dagger shone even in the dull fire light. As he held it in the flames, he heard Hadrian stirring behind him.

"What's going on?" he murmured. "Was that Royce who screamed?"

"Yes," admitted Treeve, removing the knife from the fire. "We had to pull the bolt out. We're doing everything we can to save him. Trust me."

There was no reply, and Treeve realised Hadrian must have passed out again. He hadn't forgotten that Hadrian was also in dire need of medical attention, although not quite as urgently as his friend. 

Handing the dagger to Pasca, Treeve watched her prepare to insert the blade into the side of Royce's ribcage.

"How exactly is stabbing him going to save him?" he asked.

"I need to make a small hole into his lung so I can insert a pipe to drain the liquid. Like emptying a keg of wine," Pasca explained simply.

"And you've done this before?"

"Not exactly. I've watched other people do it, and the theory is sound."

The next several moments were both tense and revolting. Pasca did exactly as she had described, and although she spoke calmly, it was clear she was terrified of making a mistake. Royce's breathing had reached a height of struggling effort, and each exhale caused flecks of blood to escape his mouth. He gasped horrifically when Pasca pierced his lung, but as the first trickle of blood was drained, his chest immediately began to ease. 

"You did it!" exclaimed Treeve, admiration mixed with no small amount of relief. 

"Let's hope so," said his sister, securing the tube and deftly stitching the bolt wound on Royce's shoulder. She covered it in clean linen in the hope of staving off infection, then sat back on her heels, wiping a stray lock of hair off her forehead with a bloody hand. 

"I'd love nothing more than to let you rest now," said Treeve, apologetically. "Maribor knows you deserve it. But Hadrian's side is still bleeding heavily and we don't have enough thread left to close it."

Pasca sighed and sat with her eyes closed for a second, thinking. 

"Poor bastard's going to hate us, but it's all I can think of," she muttered, more to herself than Treeve, but he knew what she meant. Retrieving the white dagger, he washed it thoroughly before placing it deep in the flames of their fire, this time leaving it there much longer. As he prepared for their second surgery, he watched Pasca stand and move to Hadrian's side. 

"Damn," she cursed, as she removed the bandage to clean the slash as best she could. "He's waking up."

*

It was pleasantly peaceful as Hadrian began to regain his senses again. He had been blurring in and out of reality, and only understood parts of what was going on. He had no idea where he was, but he wasn't lying in the snow anymore, and there was a fire nearby, which was nice. He remembered realising Royce wasn't dead, and had insisted the limited medical supplies be used on his friend rather than his own wound, which was making any movement excruciating. Even when he lay still, it throbbed mercilessly with every beat of his heart, and his stomach rolled unpleasantly from the pain. 

When Royce had screamed, Hadrian had reacted automatically, tensing and deeply regretting the action as he almost threw up in agony. The sound was so similar to Royce's screams back at the fort when he was being tortured, and it was a sound Hadrian had wished never to hear again. 

As he stirred into consciousness again, this time he felt more aware. Someone was talking above him, and they were cleaning his side. The feeling made him flinch, which didn't help the pain, and sweat trickled down his face and neck as he tried to breathe steadily.

"Should we warm him?" asked a man's voice.

"No, best get it over with before he's fully awake," replied a woman. 

Hadrian figured he should probably point out he was already awake, and he had just opened his eyes to see who was speaking when he caught a glimpse of a woman holding Alverstone which he could smell was hot. She was the person holding the linen to his wound and she lifted it away with her free hand. 

Hadrian had half a second to realise what was about to happen, but the words hardly made it past his lips.

"No, pl-"

This had to be death. Nothing else could possibly bring such relentless, unforgiving, godless agony. Nothing else existed in Hadrian's world but pain. Torturous, all-consuming pain. Hadrian tried to let go but couldn't. Tried to pass out but couldn't. It was as though someone was gripping his heart and holding him in a pit of fire, with no escape, no end and no mercy. 

The scream lodge itself in Hadrian's throat, refusing to be voiced and choking him as he writhed and convulsed in an effort to escape. 

Hours, weeks, years… Hadrian had no concept of time but finally, gradually, the agony began to dull just enough to release his throat, and the sound he made was barely human, strangled and broken as it was. Gagging and retching as nausea overtook only succeeded in causing the pain to spike again as his stomach tensed and pulled at his side. 

And then the blackness melted inwards to replace the red, and his body was mercifully dragged under the surface of the cool waters of oblivion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a change around with the new PoV but didn't have much choice with both our boys incapacitated. Hope you didn't mind.
> 
> NB: I have zero medical knowledge, so apologies if anyone is infuriated by those sections - I was going for drama rather than accuracy ;)
> 
> All reviews and comments welcome, as always.


	15. Buddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce gets increasingly frustrated with everyone as he tries to figure out what has happened and why everyone insists on arguing with him when he knows he's right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for a mistake in earlier chapters which has now been rectified - I recently found the official map of Elan and realised the one I was using before had the Lost Lands and Westerlins as the same place, when they are actually on opposites sides of the map, so sorry about that. The place I've been talking about is Westerlins. 
> 
> I realise this chapter may seem slightly confusing, but that is intentional so please stick with it til the end.
> 
> Otherwise, please enjoy the next chapter!

"Hadrian?"

The question escaped Royce's lips before he was fully aware, but it came out as more of a groan than anything else. Royce wanted to open his eyes, but couldn't, so he lay in darkness. Listening intently to glean any information he could about where he was, he picked out the heavy breathing of someone across from him, the sound of someone sleeping, but there were also voices. 

"How long do you think we can stay here?" asked the woman. "I don't want to move them, but it's too dangerous to stay in one place, especially so close by."

"I think you're right, we'll have to leave in the morning. Ideally, we'd travel under cover of darkness, but we can't go tonight."

Royce didn't understand who these two people were, or why they were running away, but he didn't really care. What he wanted was to find Hadrian and get as far away from Ervanon as possible. He wasn't sure why he cared about Hadrian, but put it down to the fact that the great oaf had proved he wasn't entirely useless and had saved his life. Royce needed to keep him around if only to ask him why.

Realising he was lying on his stomach, Royce moved his right arm to roll himself over, but the slightest movement sent needles of pain down his arm and had his lungs spasming as he gasped.

"Easy there, I wouldn't do that if I were you," said the female voice he had heard moments ago. Royce did his best to scowl.

"Telling me that before I tried would have been more helpful," he muttered, coughing painfully. "Who are you, and where's Hadrian? Tell me the truth and know that if you've hurt him, I'll get my dagger and I'll kill you with no more hesitation than swatting a mosquito. Trust me."

Again, Royce found himself wondering why he was being so protective of Hadrian when mere hours ago he had been prepared to kill him.

"You mean this dagger?" asked the woman, sounding perfectly calm. Royce didn't open his eyes, but heard the ting of someone tapping the tip of a dagger on the ground and recognised it instantly.

"Give me Alverstone," he ordered. "Believe me, I don't need a knife to kill you, and I'll do just that if you don't hand that back right now."

"You might not need a weapon, but I would imagine you needed the use of your hands?" the aggravating woman suggested. She didn't sound at all scared, which made Royce very angry, but she had a point. He couldn't move from his position lying on the ground like a stranded fish. 

Royce felt something placed under his hand and he managed to close his fingers around it. 

"There, now you're armed and I'm not," said the woman. "You'd think you'd be slightly more grateful given that I saved your life."

"You wouldn't think that if you knew me," Royce pointed out. 

"I don't doubt that. Besides, I didn't do it for you."

"Of course, you didn't. No-one helps anyone else for the sake of it. There is always some ulterior motive," shrugged Royce, wincing as the action brought about a spike of pain from his right shoulder. 

"I didn't do it for you, I did it from Hadrian. He came back for us. You wanted to leave us behind." The woman paused, and when she continued, the harshness to her voice was gone, replaced by something resembling amusement. "I don't blame you. It would have been the sensible thing to do."

"I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about," Royce told her dryly. 

"Don't try and deny it."

Royce scoffed. "Oh, I'm not denying it, believe me. It sounds exactly like something I would have done. No, I mean I have no idea what you're talking about, who you are, where I am or why I went along with rescuing you." 

Closing his fingers tighter around the handle of Alverstone, Royce used his knee to roll himself onto his left side, hissing as he clenched his teeth to accomplish the action. Opening his eyes, he looked at the stranger in front of him, her matted hair a complete mess and her clothes stained with blood. She looked exhausted, and wary as Royce began to regain some movement. 

"Now, if I had full use of my limbs, you would have a dagger to your throat right about now, so let's just use our imagination for a moment, shall we? Imagine I am standing behind you, blade pressed to your neck, slowly increasing the pressure every time you refuse to answer me. Imagine I press a little too hard, and break the skin, leaving a small cut which begins to bleed. Imagine you try and lie to me and I get impatient and just end things there, drawing Alverstone right across your throat and bleeding you dry like a stuck pig. Imagining that? Good. Now, I'll ask again. Where's Hadrian?"

The woman's face had blanched during Royce's speech, and she swallowed before shuffling aside to clear Royce's view. On the other side of a small fire lay a rather battered-looking Hadrian. He was facing Royce and his rugged features were bisected by a long thin cut which was bleeding sluggishly. He was asleep, but his body was wracked with minute tremors, as though he was shivering. Yet there was perspiration on his forehead and he was covered with several blankets.

"What's wrong with him?" demanded Royce, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. He forced himself to sit up, even though it brought another round of hacking coughs. "Is it his leg?"

"His leg? His leg wasn't hurt, it was his side which was sliced," explained the woman.

Royce was sure the guard's blade had caught Hadrian's leg, but couldn't be bothered to argue with this annoying woman so he continued his questioning, coughing painfully and not liking the taste of blood in his mouth.

"Why is he shaking like that? Is he cold even under all those blankets?"

The woman shook her head and chewed her bottom lip. "He's not cold."

"Then what?"

"He is in pain." The woman sighed heavily and looked extremely nervous about her next words, which made Royce growl impatiently. "We had limited medical supplies and Hadrian insisted we kept the thread to close your wounds, so when it came to stopping the bleeding of Hadrian's cut, we didn't have a lot of choice. It will have been a less than pleasant experience."

Royce gave another growl, shortly followed by a spat of coughing. When he drew his hand away from his mouth, there were specks of red there, and he tried not to panic. "What did you do to him?"

"I burnt his wound to seal it closed. Trust me, I didn't want to hurt him but it was the only way. He was losing a lot of blood, but he's getting better. My brother, Treeve, is helping me look after him. I'm Pasca, by the way."

"I don't care," admitted Royce. "How long before he can walk?"

"He'll be alright once he wakes up, as long as the cut doesn't get infected," said Pasca, moving to stand. She held her hands up innocently as Royce gripped Alverstone threateningly. "I want to check your wound. You're still coughing up blood?"

Royce glared at her but held out his speckled hand. Pasca glanced at it, then listened to his raspy breathing for a while. 

"I think it's Ok; we had to drain the blood from your lungs but I guess you must be coughing up the last of it. I think you'll live."

"I appreciate your confidence in me," Royce said sarcastically, dragging himself backwards a few feet to the wall of the cave. He took a moment to catch his breath, then leant back, a small yelp of discomfort escaping him as he put pressure on his shoulder. He curled in on himself, panting harshly as he controlled the dizziness the pain had ignited. 

"Are you alright?" asked Pasca, who Royce realised hadn't actually checked the wound while asking him about his coughing fits. She approached but again, Royce pointed his dagger at her. 

"Don't touch me," he snarled, like a wounded animal trapped in a corner. "Don't."

"I need to see if it's bleeding again," pleaded Pasca, but Royce refused to let her get any closer, so she left him and tended instead to Hadrian. 

Royce watched her untrustingly as she put a hand against Hadrian's forehead, and Royce was ready to throw Alverstone immediately, should she do anything to hurt his friend. Seemingly satisfied with Hadrian's temperature, Pasca rearranged the blankets slightly before sitting down a little way from them, next to a man Royce assumed must be Treeve. 

With a little distance to calm his tattered nerves, Royce let out a shaky sigh of pain and relief, not taking his eyes off Hadrian as he began to think.

Royce's memories were hazy, but he knew it couldn't have been many hours since he and Hadrian had received their injuries, not if they were only now being treated and yet they both still lived. He couldn't recall any of the guards they had fought having any other weapons except swords or strange, double-headed blades, but there was a crossbow bolt lying near the fire in a bloody rag beside Royce's cloak and hood, so Royce made the safe assumption that this was what had incapacitated him. 

As for the position of Hadrian's injury, Royce had been convinced the cut had been on his leg, but the bandage just below his ribcage supported Pasca's insistence that he had taken a cut to the side instead. Perhaps the dizziness slowly overcoming Royce was also putting off his perception. 

A noise brought Royce out of his pain-induced stupor and he watched as Hadrian slowly regained his senses. At first it was the furrowing of his brow as the discomfort of his injury registered above all other feeling. Next was the twitching of fingers and the groan which passed his lips before he was aware enough to retain it. Then, eventually, his blue eyes opened half way and he spent a few seconds registering his surroundings before catching sight of Royce. A smile graced his lips, which turned into a grimace when he tried to move, so he stopped and resigned to looking at Royce from his position lying on a blanket on the floor.

"Hey, buddy," he said hoarsely. "You doing Ok?"

"Buddy? Since when have we been that close?" scowled Royce. Hadrian also frowned slightly.

"Sorry. You never had a problem with it before."

"Before? We hardly know each other. I assure you - if you have called me buddy before, I definitely had a problem with it."

"Royce? Are you alright?" Hadrian sounded increasingly concerned, as though Royce was saying things which were out of character. But Royce knew he was perfectly lucid.

"I'm fine. I think I was shot with a bolt. Whatever it was, by Mar, it is painful, but I'll live, apparently. What about you?"

"My side is sore," said Hadrian, which Royce knew was an understatement. "I remember trying to protect you but getting slashed by Héothain. Then-"

"Who?" Royce interrupted, not remembering anyone offering a name. They were just faceless gold helms to him. 

"Héothain, the main knight, the one that shot you. They must be looking for us. Actually, that's a point. How are we still alive? I couldn't stop him, and he was about to stab us both."

"Really? I remember you carrying me at some point, so you must have beaten him somehow." Royce also had a vague memory of evil geese, but he thought it best not to mention that, especially since Hadrian already seemed concerned over his mental state.

"I don't know where I would have found the strength for that, but if you say so…" shrugged Hadrian.

"People will be looking for us. We'll be the most wanted people in Ghent."

"You mean Trent."

Royce huffed. Why did people insist on arguing with him when he knew what he was talking about? True, they were near the border, but this was still Avryn, not Trent. He didn't bother to correct Hadrian. It made no difference to his underlying point. 

"We need to get as far away from here as possible. As quickly as possible."

"Alright, Royce. Calm down."

"I am calm," snapped Royce, impatiently. 

"You're about the least calm I've ever seen you." More arguing. "Royce, you need to slow your breathing. You're going to make yourself sick, not to mention break your stitches if you keep panting like that."

It was only when Hadrian pointed it out that Royce realised his chest was heaving desperately as he struggled for air. It was like he had a steel band wrapped around his chest. He couldn't pull in a full breath, leaving him struggling for enough oxygen through short, sharp intakes which pulled at his stitches and caused him to gasp in pain. This only made his task more difficult and he could feel the panic rising at the fear of suffocating. 

He felt someone's hands underneath his tunic and the tightness of his chest eased a little, but he was still gasping, his eyes watering in pain and fear. He didn't even have the strength to lift Alverstone.

His chest spasmed and he was forced into a hacking cough, blood spattering his fingers once more. Another set of hands were holding him still while someone fiddled with a sore spot on his ribs, but he just kept gasping for air.

Royce wasn't sure how long this went on, but he must have passed out because he found himself waking up on his front again, the metallic tang still on his tongue but his breathing eased considerably. 

"How are you feeling?"

Royce grunted since it was all he could manage, but he found the voice familiar and calming. He opened his eyes and was graced with a ridiculous smile. Hadrian.

"Gwen's going to have a lot to say about this, you know?" said Hadrian, who was sitting against the wall a few feet away, a hand laid gently over his bandaged side. "I bet I'll get some of the blame too, for not stopping you from taking that wretched box in the first place."

"What box? I wish you'd talk sense," murmured Royce, and Hadrian's smile faltered. Royce's next words wiped it from his face entirely. "And who in Maribor's name is Gwen?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Either way, let me know your thoughts in the comments, and thanks to everyone who continues to support.
> 
> Again, I'm no medical expert, so please put any mistakes down to artistic licence ;)
> 
> And a very Merry Christmas for those who celebrate it!


	16. Unease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian tries to keep a cool head at the new turn of events, while also attempting to shake off the funny feeling he's got that something just isn't right...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So far sticking to fairly regular updates, so we'll see how long that lasts. Please enjoy the next installment!
> 
> (Just to clarify because I kept changing my mind in earlier chapters - it is end of winter/early spring, rather than autumn as I have accidently said occasionally. My bad, sorry.)
> 
> Also, the usual apology in advance for any mistakes or typos. I know they're annoying but I hope they don't distract you too much.

The first word on Hadrian's lips was /shit/ but the first one he actually spoke was "Royce?"

"What?" came the reply in a familiarly irritated tone.

"Just so I know, what job did we just complete?"

"What job do you think, moron? Our only job together. The one that damned wizard, Arcadius, came up with."

"Humour me."

Royce rolled his eyes. "The Crown Tower."

Hadrian had been afraid of that answer. He had been suspicious as soon as Royce had reacted to being called /buddy/. It wasn't like Royce had ever particularly liked the nickname but he had long since resigned to suffer in silence when it took Hadrian's fancy to use the term. 

After that, the little details Hadrian might otherwise have skimmed over were blindingly obvious. Forgetting Héothain's name, when Royce didn't forget things like that - he was too paranoid. /Fear of writing anything down has its virtues./*

The mix up with their location. The idea that Hadrian had had the strength to carry Royce anywhere. The complete confusion over the mention of the box.

And Gwen.

Hadrian knew that no amount of pain or drowsiness could account for Royce's vacant expression at the mention of that name. Gwen DeLancy was the only other person who had ever gotten through Royce's defences, and in such a spectacular fashion. 

So if Royce had forgotten who Gwen was, Hadrian knew that somehow, Royce's mind had switched him back to a time before meeting her. And since he knew who Hadrian was, it had to be during their mission to return Edmund Hall's journal. Royce's bad tempered admission confirmed this. 

"Alright, Royce. Get some rest, we've got a lot of travelling for the next few days." Hadrian tried to give a reassuring smile, but it only gained a glare from his partner.

"We can't stay here, the Serets will be after us soon, not to mention the ordinary foot soldiers too. We can't risk staying in one place too long."

Even as he spoke, Royce was attempting to push himself to his hands and knees, although his right arm was not strong enough to hold him. It shook like he was suffering his own personal earthquake, and eventually it buckled, tipping Royce forwards.

Hadrian reached forwards quickly and caught Royce before he smashed his face, gently lowering him down. Royce groaned, either from embarrassment or pain. Hadrian suspected both.

"Royce, you're in no fit state to be moving yet. Just grab a couple of hours sleep, then we'll move. I'll keep watch."

"Where's my dagger?" Royce asked, his voice muffled against the ground.

"Alverstone's right here. You dropped it when you started dying again. Please don't do that again, by the way. It's not good for my nerves. Here."

Hadrian slipped the handle of the dagger into Royce's stronger left hand, fully aware that Royce would not settle without it, like an assassin child without their deadly teddy bear. Hadrian smiled to himself and sat back against the wall to stand guard over Royce like he had promised.

*

Royce woke up just as the first light of a murky dawn crept in through the cave mouth. It hadn't been much, but the few hours of sleep he had gotten seemed to have done something to restore his strength. 

While Royce had slept, Hadrian had helped Pasca and Treeve prepare the horses for travel. The animals had been exhausted from the previous day's exertion, but they were hardy and tough, and had quickly recovered their strength after a good meal and a night of rest. They stood patiently in the entrance to the cave as the saddlebags were repacked and the blankets rolled up again. 

Hadrian made sure not to stay away from Royce for too long in case he woke up and was annoyed Hadrian had disappeared, but once the horses were ready, Treeve and Pasca joined Hadrian to eat something and talk quietly over Royce.

"Who were those Knights, or assassins, or whoever they were from Westerlins?" Treeve asked, biting hungrily into an apple. Hadrian remembered that none of them had eaten in a while, but he found himself with little appetite. 

"Long story short, about two weeks ago, Royce took a box which turned out to be a death sentence from the King of Westerlins to a knight, Sir Caelum, who had betrayed him. The box had magic on it which would lead the Westerlin knights straight to whoever touched it. Unfortunately, when we went to find Sir Caelum in Trent, we found out we had been lied to. So we now have no idea where this guy is, a dozen assassins on our trail, and my least favourite person in the world looking for us with his army."

Saying it all out loud, Hadrian realised just how much of a mess it all was, without factoring in Royce's sudden memory loss. And it hadn't even been a hired job. Just one stupid mistake. One stupid box.

"Well, if it's any help, Héothain and the girl with the crossbow, along with two more of the assassins, are dead," said Treeve. "That's how Pasca got you guys out of there."

"There was also a minor avalanche which wiped out Ugrell and his men, as well as the eight other Westerlins," added Pasca. 

"Although, we're not sure how many are actually dead," Treeve admitted. "We didn't stick around to find out."

"Don't blame you," said Hadrian, impressed. He had a feeling the avalanche hadn't been natural - they weren't that lucky - but he was very glad of it anyhow. Hopefully, they would have slightly depleted ranks searching for them. "Thank you for saving us out there. The sensible thing would have been to take our horses and get as far away as possible."

"Hypocrite," grumbled Royce. Hadrian raised an eyebrow as he saw Royce scowling lazily at him. 

"Call it even, for getting us out of that hell hole," Pasca insisted. "The sensible thing would have been to get out of your chains and take advantage of the quiet to sneak out."

"Alright, we'll call it even," smiled Hadrian. Then he turned back to Royce. "Morning, sunshine."

"Shut up."

"You're awake, then?"

"Why do you insist on pointing out the obvious? Of course, I'm awake."

"Feeling better?"

"I suppose. I don't particularly like being shot, but I'm still alive, so can't complain."

"I'm sure you will, anyway," said Hadrian. "How about your memory? How's that doing?"

"Nothing wrong with my memory. You're the one that couldn't remember the job."

"Which was…"

"By Mar. Returning the journal to the tower." Royce glanced around then and realised they were not alone. "Who are these two, and why are they here?" he demanded.

"They're helping up because we did them a favour. They're going to get us back into Avryn."

"We are already in Avryn," said Royce. "Is your geography that bad? Ervanon is in Ghent."

"I know that, but we're in Trent at the moment," explained Hadrian. "You have lost a little time. It's been a while since the Crown Tower job."

"What do you mean? How long?"

Hadrian hesitated. He didn't want to alarm Royce, but he knew he had to break the news at some point. He just wasn't sure whether to do it sooner or later. If Royce had reverted back to his old self - when Hadrian had first met him - Hadrian was much more likely to get stabbed some time soon if he annoyed Royce in any way. It might not seem like it at times, but Royce had come a long way since their first job together, and Gwen had had a lot to do with that.

"We're probably four, five days ride from the border with Ghent," said Hadrian, skirting the question. "Your current injuries are from a different fight, not the one on top of the tower. You took a cut to the side up there, and I got an injured leg. That's healed now."

"Why don't I remember the past week then?" asked Royce, scowling and pushing himself gingerly to rest on his elbow. Hadrian saw Alverstone glint in the light but there was no obvious threat yet. Not that there ever needed to be one with Royce. His mere presence was usually enough of a warning. 

"Blood loss," offered Hadrian, hoping it was enough of an explanation to satisfy his friend for the time being. 

Hadrian was aware of a couple of occurrences during his soldiering days, usually head wounds, where the victim had woken up thinking they were back several years when they had suffered a similar injury, but he had no idea if they ever recovered their missing memories since they were always taken away to recover. He wasn't really sure what to do.

"Hmm," frowned Royce, apparently unconvinced but not in a position to argue the matter since he had no experience in such things. "We need to get back to Ghent, and then out the other side as quickly as possible. Who did we fight the second time?"

"A group of knights who are after you, and a Warlord who is after me," Hadrian told him. 

"We managed to get into a lot of scrapes in five days. I don't think I like having you around much. You seem like you attract trouble."

"You do that pretty well yourself," said Hadrian, offering a little smile, which Royce did not return. "Come on. You're right about needing to be on our way. Do you think you can stand?"

Royce grunted and slowly drew himself up to a sitting position. Hadrian saw Royce's already pale complexion blanche further at the change in position, but after a few seconds, he was able to shakily climb to his feet, a hand pressed heavily against the wall behind him. 

Hadrian stood up too and went to help his friend, but received a filthy look when he offered a hand.

"I can't bring the horses any further inside so I suggest you let me help you to them, otherwise you are going to fall after less than three steps."

"Leave me alone," grumbled Royce, snatching his hand away from Hadrian's. He gingerly stepped forwards, away from the wall, and waited a moment before attempting a second step.

Credit where it's due, Royce did make it further than Hadrian expected. He was half way across the cave when the inevitable happened and Royce's legs no longer had the strength to keep him upright. As he took a step, his standing foot rolled and he stumbled into Hadrian, who had been following closely for that very reason. 

Hadrian knew better than to say anything, and simply threw an arm around Royce's waist and half-carried him to the entrance of the cave. Royce kept silent as well, which Hadrian took as a thank you, since anything else would have been voiced as a scathing retort.

Once the four of them were mounted - Hadrian considering it safest to ride with Royce in case he got annoyed and turned stabby - and they made their way out of the forest to the main road again. 

Turning left towards Lanksteer, they rode in silence, Pasca and Treeve a little way behind Hadrian and Royce. Hadrian noticed Royce occasionally inhale as though he was going to speak, only to sigh and stay quiet. His hood was up as a clear sign he didn't want to be asked, but Hadrian was curious as to what Royce was thinking. He knew his friend must be concerned about losing time, even if he thought it was only a few days. 

But Royce didn't say anything, so Hadrian didn't either. 

As they reached the city walls, Hadrian couldn't help but hold his breath as they entered through the double gates. He was aware that the assassins could easily have gotten ahead of them and reached the city in advance, but he wasn't sure how much authority they would be able to command in a country that wasn't theirs, despite being knights. 

He was fully prepared for the two gates to shut as they passed under the wall, and in his head, he went through his movements of dismounting while protecting Royce and drawing his swords. He didn't like that he only had two now, Pasca reminding him what had happened to the bastard sword during the fight with Héothain. 

They passed through the wall without trouble and wasted no time in finding the stables where they had left their horses on their way North. It turned out that while Royce had been in Ugrell's fort he had somehow found the time to squirrel away some valuable jewellery and an intricately carved pipe, which the stable owner was more than happy to take in exchange for them keeping their current horses as well as taking back Millie, and Royce's horse. 

With a horse each, they were able to make easier progress, and after procuring some more food, and much needed additional medical supplies, the four of them headed eagerly out of Lanksteer on the south road towards the border with Avryn.

"So, you never said where you two are from," said Hadrian, riding beside Pasca and Treeve, Royce a little way ahead ignoring them all, although Hadrian made sure to keep a sharp eye on him. 

"Chadwick, just south of the river from Medford in Melengar," said Treeve. "There's a town called Windham. Our father has a farm near there."

"Where did you learn to fight?" Hadrian asked Pasca. Then he looked over at Treeve. "And where did you learn to make avalanches?"

"A woman on the farm taught us the when we were children," explained Pasca. "Father didn't approve but he saw it made us happy so he chose to ignore it as long as we still got our chores done. Anielle taught us how to fight and I picked that up well enough, but I never could get the hang of the magic she tried to teach us. I didn't have the patience, but Treeve was always good at it."

"What about you? You're clearly a soldier. What are you doing this far North with just a scary hood for company?" asked Treeve.

"I can hear you, you know," said the hood. 

"I used to be a soldier, but now Royce and I... well, we're self-employed."

"Don't worry, you don't have to explain," smiled Treeve. "We won't ask if you don't."

Slightly concerned about this sudden mystery, but grateful for the acceptance of his vague statement, Hadrian nodded. "So, Windham. I've heard of that. Royce and I are headed back to Medford as it is, although we'd quite like to get rid of our hunters before we get there. I'd rather not lead them all the way to Medford; I don't think Gwen would be too pleased if had to fight them on her porch."

"Once you've recovered some strength, we can think of a plan to ambush them somehow," suggested Pasca. 

They rode on for the entire day, alternating between canter and walk to spare the horses, and Royce. While Hadrian struggled somewhat with the discomfort of the faster, more bumpy pace, Royce was in bits. Each period of canter had him slumping further over his horse's neck until Hadrian was afraid he would slide off entirely. 

Hadrian hated to push the speed, but he and the other two had agreed they needed to cover as much distance as possible. But eventually Hadrian gave in when Royce began to fold over in exhaustion even at a walk. They turned off into the cover of a small copse of trees and Hadrian dismounted with a wince and stood by Royce. 

"Come on, buddy. I wish I could say we will stop but we've still got several hours of daylight left to use up."

Hadrian figured it was testament to Royce's pain and fatigue, rather than his retuning memory, that he didn't protest being called /buddy/.

Briefly checking Royce's shoulder, Hadrian was glad to see the stitches seemed to be holding, and the wound was not bleeding. But it was clear if Royce continued to ride alone, he would fall before darkness did.

With a sigh, Hadrian pulled himself up behind Royce and held his friend steady before collecting Millie's reins and heading back out onto the road. 

As they rode, keeping at a walk the whole time now, Hadrian could feel Royce beginning to slide forwards again, and did his best to support Royce so he might sleep safely.

"Who's Gwen?" 

The question startled Hadrian since he thought Royce was asleep, but the weak voice had definitely come from beneath the hood.

"You don't remember her at all?" asked Hadrian.

"Should I? If I've only forgotten the last few days, I can't have known her very long."

"It's been a bit more than a few days," Hadrian admitted. "I'll explain everything when you've healed and got your strength back."

"Who's Gwen?" repeated Royce. There was no change in volume or tone, but Hadrian could sense the irritation nonetheless. 

"She's a friend of ours. She was the one that saved our lives after the Crown Tower job."

Royce gave a hum of acknowledge but said nothing more all evening.

They found an empty barn just before sunset and decided to stop slightly earlier than planned to take advantage of the shelter since the temperature was beginning to drop. Settling the horses down one end with some hay from the loft, the four travel-weary escapees settled at the other end, making nests in some more of the hay and taking the chance to fill their empty stomachs. 

They decided it would be best if someone kept watch, but Pasca and Treeve refused to let Hadrian negate rest and take a shift, insisting that he and Royce were injured and needed to regain their strength. 

Although he clearly didn't trust them, Royce didn't bother arguing, and once his bandages had been changed, he quickly fell asleep, barely having eaten a thing.

Hadrian had also consumed a minimal amount, but had forced himself to eat some salted pork and biscuits to tide him over. His blanket keeping off the worst of the chill, he tried to get to sleep, but found himself with an uneasy feeling hanging over him, like the night he had woken to find Royce looming above him. 

It did not make for a relaxing night.

~

* - "Fear of writing anything down has its virtues." 

This is a quote from the short story 'The Ashmoore Affair' by Michael J Sullivan, published in "Heroes Wanted: A Fantasy Anthology". Although that story is set during Riyria Revelation rather than between Chronicles and Revelations as this fic is, I liked the quote, so I'm just saying Hadrian first heard it a while back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed. Plan to update again next week, but we'll see how that goes :)


	17. Disappearances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hadrian manages to get Royce to talk, but learns more than he was expecting, especially when he only asked a simple question. And it seems his funny feeling had merit after all...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit longer, this one, but I didn't really want to split it into two chapters. Hope it doesn't put you off. 
> 
> Happy reading, hope you enjoy!

The good news was that Hadrian woke the next morning to find that no-one had slit his throat while he slept, and there was no evidence to suggest anyone had even tried.

The bad news probably explained the good news because Royce was gone.

"Where's Royce?" Hadrian demanded, knocking over pots and plates as he scrambled to his feet, big sword in hand. He meant business.

Pasca and Treeve both startled awake from their nests in the hay and also hurried to stand up. 

"I thought you were supposed to be keeping watch," said Hadrian, furious. Pasca looked guilty.

"Sorry, it was my shift. I'm still haven't recovered from what they did to us while we were prisoners. I guess the aches and pains just made me so exhausted I must have dozed off."

Hadrian would normally have felt pity for her, but right now, with assassins hunting them, Royce missing and the first signs of a fever coming on, he was feeling less sympathetic than usual.

"Well, you'd better hope nothing has happened to him because if it has, you can be sure I'll be blaming you two," he warned them. And with that, he pulled on his boots and stormed desperately outside.

None of the horses were missing, so if Royce had left of his own volition, he couldn't have planned on going far. There was also no sign of blood, which was a positive. Not only did it mean Royce hadn't likely been injured, he also hadn't done any injuring. 

Scouting around in the hard-packed snow, Hadrian soon found small boot prints which led around the barn to a side where the roof came down low. Even Hadrian could manage the climb so he followed the trail of disturbed snow on the shingles and carefully clambered up to the apex. 

Sitting in the groove made by the two parts of the barn meeting at a right angle was a small ball of black fabric, although the hood was drawn back. Royce was looking out over the trees that surrounded the barn, towards the mountain reaching towards the moody sky like a huge sheet of ice pushed upwards by the flow of an angry river. It protruded out of the forest only to disappear again into the fog which obscured the summit, some five thousand feet up.

It really was beautiful, even in the miserable weather, but Hadrian had a feeling Royce wasn't up here for the view.

"Something wrong?" Hadrian asked, giving Royce an unnecessary announcement of his presence. The only reply he got was Royce drawing up his hood. Content to accept this, Hadrian perched precariously on the apex, his legs stretched down the slope, and took in the spectacular panorama. 

Further down the roof, Royce stayed still as a statue. He might have been a large lump of coal, hunched over and completely hidden in his cloak. Hadrian continued to wait in silence, but for some reason even this seemed to annoy Royce.

"Shut up," he ordered, not looking around.

"What? I didn't say anything."

"You were going to."

"No, I wasn't, actually."

"Alright, well… that's even more annoying."

"How? You didn't want me to say anything, and yet when I didn't, you don't like that either."

"That's because I know you are only staying quiet because you know I want you to, when really, you are desperate to ask something."

Hadrian couldn't help but give an exasperated laugh. Trust Royce to make things difficult. "So you'd rather I asked?"

"I'd rather you go away and leave me alone," the hood growled. 

"That's not going to happen, so next best option?" grinned Hadrian, cheekily.

"Ask your damned question, and then go away and leave me alone."

Hadrian went to slide down next to Royce but reconsidered for two reasons. He wasn't sure if he would be able to stop sliding if he started and didn't fancy skidding right off the roof. He also wasn't sure if he really wanted to be within stabbing range of Royce right now. So, he stayed where he was and asked his question. 

"Are you Ok?"

Royce was a tough nut to crack, and he was certainly not one to open up about his feelings, especially the 'old Royce'. But he didn't just say "fine" and then tell Hadrian to sod off, so Hadrian called that progress.

"How long has it actually been since the Crown Tower job?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I went to check the wound on my side which you said I got from the Crown Tower a few days ago, and yet the only sign of injury I find is a huge scar which has clearly been healed for years." Royce was no longer a lump of coal, but a shadow. He moved silently and with impossible swiftness, and Hadrian felt a dagger point at his throat even though he could no longer see Royce. "So, either you lied about my injury, or you lied about the day. Either way, you lied, and I will find out why."

"Alright, Royce. You're right. I lied, and I'm sorry. Will you let me explain?" asked Hadrian gently, holding his hands up non-threateningly. 

"I literally just asked you to," the hood growled in his ear, exasperated. "I suggest you find a way to convince me that I didn't make a mistake by not cutting the rope and letting you fall off that Tower."

Ignoring the thought of how differently their first job might have ended, Hadrian hastily sought to make Royce understand. 

"Royce, the scar on your stomach is the injury you got on the Tower. And you're right, the scar is years old. Probably eight years old by now. You got hurt a couple of days ago when we were escaping from a Warlord, Ugrell, and got caught by some assassins sent by the King of Westerlins. You took a crossbow bolt to the back, and when you woke up, you thought you were back eight years to the Crown Tower job. I'm sorry, Royce. I was worried about overloading you while you are still recovering."

The blade stayed at his throat, but he could almost hear Royce's internal conflict as he tried to work out if Hadrian was telling the truth.

"You're telling me we've been partners for eight years, and I haven't succumbed to the temptation of killing you yet?"

Hadrian couldn't help but smile at the fact that this was the biggest problem Royce had with the story.

"I mean, from some of the jobs you've dragged me on, it wasn't from lack of trying on your part," he laughed, but then remembered Alverstone and added seriously, "Yes, we've been partners for eight years. I might even go as far as to say we've been friends for a fair portion of that time. And no, you've never tried to kill me since the Tower job. Nor I you." Hadrian thought it best not to mention when they had been possessed by the box. Those times didn't count.

Again, the blade didn't move while Royce processed all this. Hadrian's side was beginning to ache from the cold, so he hoped Royce came to a decision quickly and they could get back inside.

"Alright," said Royce, finally. "Maribor knows why, I wouldn't anyone else, but I trust you. But I have one more question before I let you go. This… this Gwen." Hadrian gave a knowing smile but said nothing. "You say she's our friend. That she helped us."

"Yeah. She sent Dixon with a cart to find us after our fight at Tom the Feather's farm, and she took care of us in Medford."

"I don't have many friends. At least, I didn't. Do I now?"

"No," admitted Hadrian. "It's pretty much me and Gwen."

"Good. I was worried I might have become an idiot hanging around you for so long. So, I've got three friends, one of whom is Gwen. Why?"

Hadrian's mind leapt. Three? Who was the other one? 

But now was not the time to ask, so he stored that bit of information away for another time, and simply answered Royce's question. "Well, because she helped us."

"Those two idiots down in the barn helped us, apparently, and yet I don't trust them as far as I can spit."

"Yeah, well. Gwen's special. You don't remember her at all?"

The blade disappeared and Hadrian turned to see the hood shake its head. Hadrian couldn't see Royce's eyes - not that they normally gave much away - but had a feeling the usual scowl was missing, possibly replaced with something resembling sadness. Even though he didn't remember who Gwen was, it was clear Royce was beginning to understand she must be someone important. 

"Come on, let's get you some breakfast. You haven't eaten anything in two days, you must be starving."

Hadrian almost clapped Royce on the back, but remembered the injured shoulder just in time, so gave him an apologetic grin and began to slither painfully back down the roof towards the low section. 

He slid back down to solid ground, grunting in pain as he slipped on the landing and had to grab the side of the barn for support, tugging at his side. Royce was already waiting for him. He evidently didn't have the patience to wait for Hadrian to get down and had taken a different route.

"I should probably apologise to Pasca. I shouted at her for falling asleep on watch when I thought you'd been kidnapped," Hadrian admitted, sheepishly.

"She was never on watch," said Royce, and Hadrian stopped in his tracks. 

"What?"

"I barely slept last night, and I saw her and the man swap at the agreed time, but when it was the woman's turn, she left the barn. Didn't come back until just before I went out at dawn."

"Where did she go?" asked Hadrian in a hushed tone. Royce shrugged.

"I don't know. I thought about following her, but I was still exhausted and didn't think I'd be able to walk properly. And I didn't wake you in case the guy also woke up. Besides, you couldn't follow a deaf horse without either being heard, or losing the trail."

"I've got better since we met, you know," said Hadrian, walking again. "Alright, good to know. I'll keep an eye on her."

"We could just kill them both and be done with it," shrugged Royce.

"No. Besides, what if there is a perfectly innocent explanation for it?"

"You are so naïve. There won't be, and even if there was, better safe than sorry."

"You can't kill innocent people, Royce."

"I can. They bleed just as much as guilty people."

"No," forbade Hadrian under his breath as they entered the barn. Royce grunted but said nothing more. Hadrian decided to keep a close eye on him as well. 

Treeve had relit the camp fire and had breakfast ready for them. Hadrian passed a bowl to Royce, who scowled. Hadrian glared back, so Royce sniffed it suspiciously before apparently deciding it was not poisoned and slowly spooning small amounts of the porridge into his mouth. 

Hadrian ate his breakfast quickly, and then excused himself from the barn under false pretences. He could tell Royce knew what he was doing, but they said nothing to each other.

If Royce was telling the truth - and as far as Hadrian could see, he had no reason to lie - Pasca had shirked sentry duty to disappear off somewhere last night. Royce hadn't mentioned her taking a horse, so Hadrian had to conclude she hadn't gone far, since she had been back before he had woken. 

Therefore, she had visited somewhere close by, and for the second time that morning, Hadrian found himself looking for footprints. She hadn't gone out of the same door as Royce, so she had to have left through the door they had come in the previous night. This meant there were lots of tracks churning up the packed snow, but it didn't take long to spot the only set that led away from the barn. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Hadrian began to follow them towards the woods at the back of the barn, away from the road and into wild country. He could feel himself sweating even from this mild exercise and stopped briefly to check his bandage. 

His wound was looking angry and red, and he could almost feel the heat radiating off it as his hand hovered over his side. He quickly tucked the bandage back and swallowed the bile in his throat before he stood up from the log he had been using as a seat. 

He was at the edge of the trees when he heard Pasca calling.

"Hadrian?"

"Just a minute," Hadrian called, irritated. He took a few steps into the forest, where the tree cover had kept out most of the snow and the footprints faded almost into nothing even in the few feet he could see before darkness loomed. 

"Hadrian!" It was Treeve this time. "Hadrian, it's Royce."

/I think I can tell the difference between your voice and Royce's/ Hadrian grumbled internally, taking another step into the trees. Then he stopped. That wasn't what Treeve meant. 

Turning on his heel and slipping in the wet grass, Hadrian lumbered back to the barn as fast as his injured body would let him, sword in hand by the time he reached the entrance. 

"What's wrong?" he demanded, looking desperately for his friend and only seeing Pasca and Treeve. 

"He stood up, but suddenly started stumbling and swaying. He wouldn't let us near to help him. Then he collapsed."

"Where is he?" Hadrian's anger slipped in exchange for concern. Pasca pointed to the pile of hay, and in four long strides, Hadrian was beside the motionless lump that was Royce. 

"Royce?" pleaded Hadrian, gently shaking his partner. "Royce, wake up."

He was rewarded with a grunt and a weak toss of the head, but it was enough. "Royce, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me, please?"

Another movement of his head, but his eyes didn't open. Hadrian grasped his friend's fingers, those of his left hand. "Royce, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand. Royce?" 

Hadrian waited a painful moment, praying to Maribor as he held his breath. And then…

It was weak, pathetic even, but Royce's fingers definitely closed around Hadrian's, and he let out a sigh of relief. 

"Thank Novron. You really had me worried for a second there, Royce. I did ask you not to start dying again, remember?

Royce made a humming sound which could have been yes or no, but either way it was a response. 

"Is it your back? Is your injury playing up? Or is it your chest? You don't seem to be coughing up blood again, which is a good sign."

"Shut up," Royce muttered, his words slurred. He opened his eyes, and flinched at the sight of two strangers leaning over him, as Pasca and Treeve stood by his side. Royce made a whining noise and Hadrian quickly shooed them away, anxious not to cause Royce any more discomfort.

"They're gone, Royce. They're gone. It's alright," soothed Hadrian. 

"Tell them I can't travel," Royce murmured. "Not today. I won't stay in the saddle."

"I'm sorry, but we need to move. We are being chased, after all. It's sort of a matter of urgency," Hadrian replied softly. "You'll have to ride with me so I can make sure you don't fall. It's not ideal, but it's our only choice."

"We could stay here another night. Who knows? Perhaps the people chasing us will overtake us without realising."

"The assassins have a way to track us, remember? We'll be sitting ducks here."

"We need to spend another night here. Tell the others I can't travel. I can't even stand. Besides, the snow will hold off until late afternoon anyway."

"What's that got to do with anything?" frowned Hadrian, wondering if he'd misheard. Royce was getting quieter with each sentence. He beckoned Hadrian to lean down so he could speak in his ear, and Hadrian complied, concerned.

"You wooden-headed idiot; take a hint. I'm giving you more time to find out where the woman went last night."

Hadrian had just enough sense not to jump in surprise, but quickly looked up to make sure Pasca and Treeve hadn't heard this. They were sitting a good way away, talking in low voices, and occasionally glancing over at Hadrian and Royce, but didn't seem to be aware of the new development. 

"You want me to leave you here and track where Pasca went?" Hadrian hissed, making sure he had his back to the others.

"Yes, hence my sudden relapse."

"Then you're Ok?" 

"Yes, I'm fine. Just a bit of acting. I haven't actually been poisoned, since I know that's what you're thinking." 

"I'm glad to hear it. But I followed the footprints to the edge of the forest, and from there, the snow fades out and there's no trail to follow. Once she enters the trees, I have no idea where she went."

"They'll be other signs. Broken twigs, disturbed stones, footprints marked by the grass looking shiny. It won't be hard to pick up the trail."

"Not for you, but it's pretty dark in there. I can hardly see where I'm going, let alone where I /should/ be going," Hadrian felt it necessary to point out. 

Royce muttered something that sounded like /useless oaf/, but then gave an impatient sigh. "Fine. I'll come with you tonight. We'll have to wait until dark; there's no way we can sneak out without them seeing, else."

"Alright, so…what? You're just going to play ill all day?"

"It's only partly acting. I do feel like shit, and I am not upset at the thought of not bouncing around on horseback for another ten hours. I can't imagine you're overly disappointed either."

Hadrian realised he had unconsciously been holding a hand over his side. It was true it was paining him, especially from the exertion of running back in panic over Royce.

"To tell the truth, I quite like the idea of a day to heal. We both need to eat, though, to keep up our strength."

Royce looked slightly nauseated at the thought, but Hadrian managed to force some dry biscuits into him, and then pretended to care for him throughout the day, although it wasn't all fake. Royce's back had become slightly infected, and it turned out that he had a mild fever to contend with, too. This only added to his apparent poor health, so Hadrian made sure to help him battle it while still keeping up the appearance he was too unwell to ride. He didn't let on to Royce that he was also struggling, and it was testament to Royce's fever that he didn't notice.

By the time darkness returned, Royce was a little better, both in reality and for show. Hadrian managed to convince Pasca and Treeve to settle down further from Royce that evening, and Royce helped by fidgeting and getting annoyed whenever one of them approached. This gave Hadrian and Royce a fair amount of space to work with. Hadrian also offered to take first watch, using the excuse he would be awake tending Royce anyway. 

Once he was certain their companions were asleep, Hadrian helped a slightly wobbly Royce to his feet and they snuck out of the barn as quietly as they could. Royce was weak from the fever which had a stubborn grasp on him, and though he wouldn't admit it, Hadrian was still battling an infection from his cauterised wound. Even in the cold night air, he could feel his shirt sticking to his back, and sweat beading on his forehead. He felt like he was in the heat of the Calian jungles rather than wintery Trent.

By contrast, beside him, Royce shivered, even though he too was sweating. Royce hated snow, and Hadrian knew this could only worsen his misery, but they had a job to do, and neither of them was about to complain about a mild temperature misinterpretation. 

Hadrian led the way to the forest outskirts, and went in as far as he had that morning. There, he stopped, and turned to Royce. 

"This is as far as I got. I don't know where she went from here."

"Lucky I'm not blind, then," Royce grinned wickedly, before leading the stumbling way into the pitch-black woods.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, and I hope you liked it. More to come soon! 🙃


	18. Rain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce and Hadrian follow Pasca's trail into the woods, but on their way back, they begin to wish they hadn't bothered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, folks. Bit of a delay but next chapter ready and raring to go. 
> 
> Heads up - Word was being a pain so may be more typos than usual. Also, bit more language than usual, in case that bothers anyone. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Royce was struggling to stay upright. He leant on every tree they passed, and wished Hadrian would fall behind so he had an excuse to stop and wait for him. But because Royce was moving so slowly, keeping an eye out for signs of passage, and differentiating them from animal tracks, Hadrian was able to keep up.

They passed several scuffed stones on the rough path which led into the dark trees, and hung right at a fork, trailing off the dirt track and into the brush. The wilder vegetation was a challenge, and Royce would have preferred to send his oaf of a partner first to break down some of the roots and branches that blocked the way.

But Hadrian would have been too oblivious to notice the snapped twigs or even the strand of hair caught in a branch, so Royce had to lead. 

He had no idea how he and Hadrian had been partners for eight years. For a start, he could hardly fathom that he'd forgotten such a significant period of time, and he really couldn't believe they'd worked other jobs together successfully enough that Hadrian had not gotten one of them killed. Or that he hadn't been killed by Royce just for some peace and quiet.

Listening to the huge man behind him, lumbering through the undergrowth, Royce would be amazed if there was any living creature within a mile of them which hadn't been scared off by all the noise. Royce wasn't at his usual level of stealth but he was like a mouse compared to the great oaf behind him.

With a sigh, Royce continued battling on, pushing through the increasingly dense woods.

"Are you sure this is the right way?" Hadrian asked from behind him. Royce had to remind himself he had obviously kept Hadrian around for a reason, and it would be a mistake to kill him over such a petty annoyance now.

"Yes, I'm sure," he said through gritted teeth. 

"It's just… it doesn't look like anyone has come along here in years."

"Do you want to lead the way, if you're suddenly an expert at tracking in the dark?" Royce snarled. "No, I didn't think so. Now just shut up and let me concentrate. I'm not running at full efficiency here."

Thankfully, Hadrian kept silent, and Royce pulled back a large bramble bush to find a clearing about fifty feet wide. It was mostly empty, with the occasional rock or boulder which had rolled down from the mountains hundreds of years ago and bedded down in the soft grass, a covering of snow settled like a blanket. Although the new snow Royce had predicted for that afternoon hadn't arrived, looking up at the sky, the broiling clouds were definitely building up to something.

"Happy now?" he sighed, taking the opportunity to look smug, and to rest against a tree. He leant gingerly against the trunk and caught his breath, trying not to shiver. He didn't like feeling hot and cold at the same time, and knew it was not a good sign. Hadrian had told him his wound was infected slightly, but he hoped that cleaning the injury and applying new bandages would be enough to stop it getting worse. It had hurt enough when Hadrian had washed out the hole and resewn it, so he would be annoyed if it had been for nothing.

With his meagre strength returned, Royce took the opportunity to skirt the clearing, making a full circle along the treeline and returning to Hadrian. 

"They didn't leave together," he said. "The only other tracks in and out of here are over there to the left and it was a single person. So this was the meeting point. Specifically, that big boulder near the middle."

"Who was she meeting?" asked Hadrian.

"How am I supposed to know? I wasn't there. They were medium height, medium weight. I think they wore armour, but that's just a guess from a scuff mark on a tree over there."

"Armour? What if it was one of the Westerlin Knights?"

"According to you, the Knights are out to kill us, so if it was a Knight, I doubt we'd still be alive to discuss this. They would have just poisoned our breakfast this morning and been done with it. Plenty of poisonous plants about. Would have been the easiest thing in the world."

"You're not inspiring me with great confidence right now, Royce," said Hadrian. 

"Good. It wasn't my intention. My point is, if it was a Knight, and we're still alive, what were they after?"

"Maybe Pasca met with a Knight and explained we weren't Sir Caelum," Hadrian suggested hopefully. 

"Grow up. That's about as likely as a white feather falling from the sky at my feet," Royce grumbled. As he spoke, the sky lit up for a moment, and a few seconds later, there was a clap of far off thunder. 

Against his better judgement, Royce's eyes shot towards the sky, the tiniest part of him wondering if Muriel might actually reply to his jest. 

But no white feather fell, and the clouds overhead, which had been gathering all day, finally opened with another flash of lightning.

"Come on, we should get back, as quickly as possible," said Hadrian, also looking up at the furious sky.

"We should follow the other trail. It might lead us to whoever was at the meeting. Besides, a forest is just as safe as anywhere else in a storm," Royce argued. "It's lone trees that are dangerous."

"That's not what I'm thinking. If the thunder gets much louder, it might wake up Pasca or Treeve, and then they'll notice we've gone."

"Let's head back," Royce hastily agreed.

*

Royce was flagging now. He was almost running on empty, and kept having to make more and more frequent stops to gather his strength. Hadrian didn't say anything about this, which made Royce wonder if he was struggling more than he was letting on. 

For some reason he couldn't fully understand, Royce was troubled by this thought. He didn't like the idea of Hadrian suffering in silence. He tried to convince himself it was the dishonesty he didn't like, but found himself considering ways to help Hadrian.

A desire to help someone else was not a feeling Royce thought he was used to. And it wasn't just a selfish need to be protected. He was suspicious that he might genuinely be worried about Hadrian.

"You still alive?" he asked dryly, eyes narrowed as he surveyed Hadrian standing with his hands on his knees, face scrunched up in pain. Rain hammered them both and they were soaked to the skin which only increased their misery.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright. The quicker we get back, the quicker I can lie down. You?"

"Not pleasant, but tolerable… for now. Are you sure you're alright?"

Hadrian's face had suddenly gone pale. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking deep breaths. Royce reached out and placed a hand on Hadrian's shoulder as carefully as he could.

"I'll be fine," Hadrian replied after several shaky inhales. He slowly stood upright and gave Royce a rather watered down version of that annoying smile of his. "Don't tell me you are worried about me."

Royce withdrew his hand with a grunt. Sulking, he said nothing and began walking. 

"Well, as long as you don't go on a massacre and inadvertently frame me for murder," Hadrian sniggered behind him. Royce turned and glared in confusion and annoyance. 

"What?"

"Right, you don't remember. That's what you did about seven years back, when you realised you actually cared about another human being. I have to say, it was probably one of the worst ways you've dealt with your emotions. Normal people might write a song, or just talk to the person. But not you. Go big or go home, I suppose."

"Shut up," groaned Royce, turning his back on Hadrian and pulling his hood right down over his face, water dripping off the end of his nose. Hadrian took the hint. 

For a while.

"Royce? I know you told me to shut up and all, but are you absolutely sure we are going the right way? I only ask because I'm sure we passed those funny-looking rocks a while ago, because I thought /Hey, those rocks looks like a duck and a badger having a race, I'll point it out to Royce/ but I didn't, because I knew you'd shout at me."

"What makes you think I wouldn't shout at you now for pointing it out?" asked Royce in a low voice. He didn't look up at the rocks or Hadrian, but just kept trudging on, all his energy consumed by putting one foot in front of the other.

"Well, I'm sure you will, but I thought it was worth pointing out because it wasn't there on our way to the clearing, and I've seen it twice on the way back. That can't be a good sign."

"Shit."

Royce stopped and raised his head, his hood instantly collapsing under the weigh of the water and drenching him. He looked around, barely able to see anything now that he had a curtain of rain to contend with as well as darkness. The trees were providing little cover since the downpour was so heavy it just battered straight through the canopy. 

Usually Royce had no problem finding his way back, even if he did prefer cities to woods. Once he'd been along a path, he could always retrace his steps, even without using landmarks or funny-looking rocks. So he was extremely confused when he looked up and saw nothing he recognised. Hadrian was right - they were completely lost. 

"Shit."

Royce spun around, taking in everything he could see, which wasn't much now. The rain was coming down like steel rods, and he was feeling more miserable than ever. The last of his energy had all but drained, along with his patience, and he just wanted to get back to the barn. He no longer cared what the woman had been doing in the woods. He just longed to be warm and dry and in a painless sleep.

He sighed heavily, the tension in his shoulders making his wound ache relentlessly. He met Hadrian's eye and saw his partner had the same defeated look, gently cradling his side with his arm. There was a slight pink tinge to Hadrian's shirt which told Royce the cut was bleeding again, and this was the final motivation he needed.

"Fuck it. I can't go on, and neither can you. Let's just find somewhere nearby which offers even a suspicion of shelter, and wait out this fucking rain."

"Can't say fairer than that," agreed Hadrian, his jaw clenched with a determination which didn't reach his eyes. "I'll lead."

"You can't see a thing," protested Royce.

"True. But I can clear a better path which will make it a bit easier for you. I was doing it behind anyway, might as well be useful. Just tell me if you spot anywhere promising, yeah?"

"Alright," shrugged Royce, wincing. "Keep straight on. We are at least heading in the general direction of the barn, though Maribor only knows how far into the woods we've wandered."

With Hadrian in the lead, they made painfully slow progress through the undergrowth, struggling at the slightest obstacle. Eventually, Royce pulled them to the left of the 'path' and pointed to a rotted out tree, its hollow trunk splintered barely six feet up, but big enough for them to squeeze inside and get some shelter.

Royce took off his cloak and made them a roof to keep the worst of the water out. They huddled inside, Hadrian's legs sticking out the door and Royce curled up in an angry ball next to him.

"I'm sorry I dragged you out here," Hadrian sighed, his eyes closed as he rested his head against the wall beside him. "If I wasn't so useless at following tracks, I wouldn't have had to drag you along. I know you are still recovering and this has done nothing but set you back. How's your shoulder?"

Royce found himself inexplicably playing down his pain and discomfort to Hadrian as he said, "It's not too bad. Just aches. What about your side? I noticed it has started bleeding again."

"Has it? I can't really tell, given how wet I am. The bandage is doing nothing, though."

Hadrian hitched up the side of his shirt and the sodden bandage fell away on its own. The gruesome wound was almost too much for Royce's fragile stomach. The surrounding skin was red and nasty; Royce wasn't sure whether it was from the burn or the infection, but whatever it was, it wasn't good. The wound itself looked agonising, the burn weeping and bleeding from the corner, and it was deeper than Royce had realised. All in all, Royce wasn't entirely sure how Hadrian had kept going this far.

"That's disgusting," he said, looking up. Hadrian, who had kept his eyes closed throughout the whole process, gingerly looked down at it, but failed where Royce had succeeded. Desperately, he dragged himself out of the tree stump and managed a few stumbled steps before his stomach rebelled. 

"I was wrong. /That's/ disgusting," said Royce. 

Hadrian cupped his hands to collect some of the rain and washed out his mouth before crawling miserably back in beside Royce, looking very sorry for himself. "I probably shouldn't've looked," he muttered, slumping against the side of the tree.

"S'alright," said Royce. "You should clean it up, though. You don't want it to get any nastier."

Hadrian nodded but didn't make any movement to do as his partner suggested. Royce sighed, and ripped a strip of linen from the bottom of his shirt. 

"Wha' you doin'?" Hadrian slurred. 

"Keeping you alive, what's it look like?" Royce grumbled, steeling himself before wetting the rag and beginning to clean Hadrian's side. The man winced and fidgeted, but couldn't do much more, so Royce did as good and as quick a job as he could before binding Hadrian's wound with another strip of fabric. 

"Thanks, buddy," sighed Hadrian. Royce sighed, but didn't think now was the time to complain.

Warily, Royce reached his arm over his shoulder and prodded experimentally at his own injury. Hissing when he found it, he pulled back his hand and saw blood on his fingers. 

"You didn't happen to bring any bandages with you, did you?" Royce asked, more to fill the silence than out of realistic hope as he began ripping his shirt again.

"You're the smart one," murmured Hadrian, the hint of a grimace on his lips which made Royce feel he was missing some inside joke. "Why didn't you bring anything?"

"I could hardly carry myself, let alone a bag of medical supplies," Royce pointed out, though there was none of his usual venom. He wrapped the drip of fabric tightly around his back and tied it. "I suppose you'd like me to have brought a picnic as well. And maybe a tent and a couple of bed rolls."

"Strangely, I'm not feeling all that hungry at this precise moment, but I wouldn't say 'no' to a pillow."

Royce gave a huff of laughter and leant his good shoulder carefully against Hadrian to keep the weight off his back. 

"Let's hope this fucking rain stops by morning, then, and the next time we find civilisation, I'll buy you as many pillows as you could possibly want. Just don't throw up on them, will you?"

"Ass."

Royce smiled. "Bastard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, all comments welcome. 
> 
> Next chapter should be pretty soon since first draft is done.
> 
> Thanks to all those who are still reading!


	19. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce struggles to get a delirious Hadrian to safety, while still trying to work out who this man is to him, and why he keeps rambling on about people who aren't there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, guys! Hope you enjoy the next installment. Bit of a filler chapter, I must admit, but more interesting stuff to come in the one after this.
> 
> Also, Word is now playing ball, so hopefully there are less spelling and grammar issues, but I'll let you decide for yourselves! If I have missed something, please point it out.

A positive that had come from Royce's trudge through the pouring rain was that it had brought down his fever.

That was the one and only positive.

Royce woke up with a start. For a moment, he had the strangest feeling he was being chased by dogs, although he had no idea why, and the feeling faded quickly. Wondering if this irrational fear had woken him, he sat up straight and took a moment to listen for the bay of hounds, or the shout of Serets, but there was only the rain.

Realising his earlier discomfort of being both too hot and too cold had dissipated, Royce was now just cold. He shivered, glancing sideways to see if Hadrian was awake.

It was then he figured out what had woken him.

Hadrian was shivering too, but he was also mumbling something indistinguishable. Royce listened to his ramblings for a minute, only capturing the odd word. Ugrell…cage…Galenti… Royce had no idea what any of it meant but it appeared Hadrian was in some degree of distress. 

Putting a hand on Hadrian's shoulder, Royce gave him a shove, but could feel the heat radiating off his partner. At least that explained how Royce hadn't noticed the cold until he had sat up - Hadrian was like a fire. Royce placed the back of his hand on Hadrian's forehead, which was warm and dry. He was burning up, and he was dehydrated. 

Outside their makeshift tent, the rain was still pouring relentlessly, but the patches of sky between branches was now a steely grey rather than pitch black. Aside from knowing it was daytime, Royce had no idea what time it was or how long they had been asleep. His stomach told him it had been a while since his last decent meal, but he hadn't eaten properly since his injury, so that could mean anything.

Whatever the case, Royce knew he needed to get himself and Hadrian back to the barn as soon as possible.

"Rise and shine, /buddy/," said Royce mockingly, nudging his partner more harshly. "Things to do, places to go, people to kill. Seriously, get your lazy ass up else you may well die in this hovel." 

He patted Hadrian's face until he was rewarded with two bleary, glazed eyes looking at him with contempt.

"I want to kill you right now," Hadrian murmured, closing his eyes only to be slapped again by Royce. 

"The feeling is mutual, but if you don't get up, I won't need to do a thing; you'll be killing yourself, and I can't imagine death by infection will be that pleasant."

"Infection?" echoed Hadrian. He glanced at his raggedly bandaged side and put it all together. "Ah, fuck."

"Nicely summarised. Now, are you coming?" Royce crawled out of the tree trunk and was drenched within five seconds of standing up. He went to grab his cloak, not that it had any hope of keeping him warm now, but stopped when he realised it was the only thing keeping Hadrian dry. He just pulled up his hood instead and crouched down in the dirt.

"Hadrian, I'd really appreciate it if you moved. I'd rather your corpse was somewhere more accessible so burying you will be easier."

There was a pause, in which Royce worried that Hadrian might have fallen asleep again, or died, but then, "I thought we agreed on cremation?"

"In this weather? I don't think that's likely."

With much grunting and groaning, Hadrian finally emerged from the shelter and stood up on shaky legs, leaning heavily against the tree.

"What I wouldn't give for an ale right now," he babbled as Royce wrapped Hadrian's cloak around the man before grabbing his own. Royce was about to swing it over his shoulders when he noticed Hadrian was still shivering violently, and gave a sigh before putting the black fabric over Hadrian's blue cloak to give him twice the protection from the chilling rain. 

"Where are we, Royce?"

"I don't know," growled Royce, more annoyed at himself than Hadrian. His partner was useless and Royce had known it was down to him to get them back safe, so it was his own fault they were now lost. "These damned woods seem to go on forever, but this is the right general direction, so let's just hope we aren't too far away. At the rate we were travelling last night, it's not like we went leagues, so it shouldn't be too difficult to find the tree line."

"Who's that?" asked Hadrian, holding up a wavering hand and pointing behind Royce. Panic filled the thief, and he spun around, only to see empty woods.

"Where? Who?"

"That massive guy with the animal skin and the- uh oh!" Hadrian sounded like a child who had been caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, then suddenly, all youthful innocence and naiveté was gone, replaced with pure fear. A scraping of metal accompanied the drawing of the spadone from Hadrian's back, and Royce had to leap back to avoid the blade as it was readied.

"Hadrian, what are you doing? There's no-one there."

Hadrian ignored Royce entirely, and focussed on a spot just over his shoulder. "Ugrell, I'm not going back. I'm never setting foot in that Maribor-forsaken town ever again. This ends here."

It would have sounded impressive, if Hadrian's voice hadn't been shaking with fear so much that it was difficult to understand him. Clearly, Hadrian's invisible threat was very real to him. 

"Come on. Let's get out of here," said Royce, pushing Hadrian away from /Ugrell/ who had him petrified. Hadrian backed up as Royce pushed, but didn't pay him any other attention. Royce growled. 

"He's not real, and I could really do with one of us being in possession of our full mental capacity. Since I'm apparently missing all recollection of eight years of my life, that leaves us very little choice, so I'd appreciate it if you ignored the imaginary warlord, and we went on our merry way."

This was equally as successful as anything he'd said so far.

Royce gave a sigh of frustration. He knew he needed to get through to Hadrian by somehow connecting with him, but being sympathetic was not his strong suit. He continued to usher Hadrian along as quickly as he could, but his partner was still talking to the empty woods.

"Stay away from me," he pleaded, Royce having to dodge a wild flail of Hadrian's sword. "Stay back, don't come any closer. Please. I'm not Galenti anymore. I've given that up. Just leave me alone. Let me go."

Royce wasn't sure if this last command was aimed at him, since he was basically tackling Hadrian, his arms around his waist as he pushed him backwards through the undergrowth. But he didn't let go, determined to get out of the trees as quickly as possible.

"Where'd he go?" 

"Oof."

Hadrian stopped abruptly, and Royce crashed into him, bashing his bad shoulder. He stood up scowling and watched Hadrian suspiciously. 

"He just disappeared," frowned Hadrian, clearly confused that his hallucination had suddenly vanished. Royce was glad it was over, and he managed to convince Hadrian to turn around and start walking on his own, although his partner kept snapping his head from side to side, looking for any indication of threat or danger.

They walked in silence for ten minutes or so, during which time, Royce managed to deduce it was about midday. Things were going well (considering) and Royce finally saw some hope of getting back to the barn before nightfall. Until Hadrian's fever delirium set in again. 

When Hadrian stopped, Royce was prepared for another one sided conversation between Hadrian and Ugrell the warlord. 

He was not expecting Hadrian's single word question, or the muddle of emotions contained within it.

"Dad?"

*

Hadrian had been plodding along in resigned silence, still confused by Ugrell's disappearing act but grateful that he truly seemed to have gone, although he still kept up as quick a pace as he could manage. 

Beside him, Royce maintained a steady presence which was a comfort in the swirling world Hadrian was currently occupying. His head hurt, and his side hurt, and his throat hurt. The rainwater he could catch in his mouth was not enough to quench his thirst, or cool his burning face. He was just about to suggest to Royce that they take a break, when he felt like someone had whacked him in the stomach with a club.

Before him stood a silhouette he knew well, even though he had not seen the figure in almost fifteen years. But the broad shoulders, barrel chest, thick arms, and smithing hammer of Danbury Blackwater were as familiar to him as if he'd left home only yesterday.

"Dad?"

The man was blurry, and not just because Hadrian was looking at him through the rain. There was a hazy quality about him, like he might dissipate at the first hint of a breeze, like smoke.

Something at the back of Hadrian's brain was trying to tell him that his father couldn't possibly be standing in front of him. Nothing Hadrian had ever witnessed, even in the deepest Calian jungles, could bring the dead back to life. 

But he looked so real. He was dressed exactly as Hadrian always knew him, in his apron covered in soot and burns, with his gloves equally damaged, and his shirt soaked through with sweat from the heat of the furnace and the exertion of work. 

Danbury was neither smiling nor frowning, and simply looked back at his son with an almost confused look on his face. 

"What are you… how…?" stuttered Hadrian, aghast at this apparition before him. He took a step forward, but Danbury took an equal step back.

"What are you doing, Haddy?" asked Danbury. There was no mistaking the disappointment in his voice.

"I… I don't understand," said Hadrian.

"What are you doing? Is this what I trained you for? Were all those hours of practice for you to go gallivanting across the countryside stealing from people for money?"

"You never told me why you trained me," argued Hadrian. He vaguely registered that Royce was pushing him along the path, but any distance he gained on Danbury, the man countered by walking backwards. "You drilled all that swordplay, all those lessons, into me, and when I finally get an answer when I ask you what you expect from me, you tell me you want me to be a blacksmith. I don't understand."

Danbury was blurring again, but this time, Hadrian realised it was from the tears in his eyes. He blinked them away, but when he looked up, his father was gone.

"Dad? Where did you go? Where did he go?" Hadrian demanded of Royce.

"He was never there," Royce told him, giving him another shove to encourage him down the path. "You're ill, do you understand? You've got a fever. None of it's real. There's no-one here but me and you."

Hadrian didn't believe Royce for a second, although he had no idea why the thief would lie. Ugrell and his father had both been as real as Royce was. Although, even Royce was starting to get blurry and wobbly. The trees around him were undulating like he was on a ship, the rain seemed to be falling upwards now. 

"We're alone, believe me," said Royce, standing in front of Hadrian and staring him down. 

"What about him?" asked Hadrian, pointing over Royce's shoulder. He heard Royce give a frustrated sigh and he turned, looking at the man a way in front of them, near the edge of the trees. He was barely visible but Royce spotted him easily. 

"That's Treeve," said Royce, glaring. "Well, at least it's also the way out of these damned woods."

Royce dragged Hadrian towards the edge of the trees, calling to Treeve, who came running to meet them.

"Where did you guys go?" asked Treeve, taking Hadrian's other arm and helping to pull him along.

"Doesn't matter. This one's got a fever from an infection and needs a few days rest before we can get going again. How far are we from the barn?" asked Royce.

"About two miles that way." Treeve pointed left as they broke out of the forest and into knee-deep snow. Hadrian followed Treeve's extended arm and could make out a wooden barn, which seemed to come closer, then retreat again. The constant movement of everything around him was making him feel sick, and he went to sit down, only to be hauled up again by his two chaperones. 

"No, we need to get back," said Royce. He looked up at the sky and sighed. "I can't believe it's still fucking raining."

By the time they got back to the barn, Hadrian was ready to collapse. He could no longer remember why they had gone into the woods in the first place, and he was convinced it couldn't have been that important, so he was content to lie motionless in the straw and close his eyes as he let someone tend to his festering side.

"Where's the woman?" Hadrian heard Royce growl. 

"My sister has a name," Treeve said, haughtily. "Pasca is out looking for you, just like I was. What were you doing wandering the woods? We thought you'd been taken."

"Wouldn't you have loved that. Get us off your hands. Well, we weren't taken, and all you need to know right now is that Hadrian is sick. I can well understand you don't like me, and I haven't got the slightest problem with that because I don't like you, either. But Hadrian saved your life, so if you could find me some clean water to wash out this wound properly, I'm sure your conscience would be a little cleaner, don't you? Lovely."

Hadrian faded in and out of consciousness as Royce flushed the infection from his cut and stitched it up. He only really registered the pain of the process, squirming under Treeve's hands as the man held him down for Royce to work. Once the pain finally eased a little, Royce placed a poultice over the wound and secured it with bandages.

"It's disgusting but not fatal," Royce told him, pressing a cup to his lips. Hadrian gratefully gulped down the water then lay back as Royce placed a wet cloth on his forehead. "You'll be up and about again the day after tomorrow, I expect."

"Thanks," muttered Hadrian. 

Royce just grunted and left him to rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading/ leaving kudos/ commenting, and thanks to people who keep coming back to this story time and again. Means a lot that people are still interested 😊


	20. Knights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an argument between Pasca and Royce, plans change, but Treeve manages to get a clearer picture of their situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter ready. 
> 
> Thanks to The_Elister, I have finally overcome my ignorance regarding italics, so enjoy the improved formatting!
> 
> Hope you like the next chapter!

"Are you going to tell me where you guys went?" Treeve asked, as Royce walked away from Hadrian in search of bandages for himself. He hung his cloak on a nail to dry, after retrieving it from Hadrian.

"When the woman gets back."

"Pasca," Treeve corrected irritably. "Why can't you just use our names? Even when I found you just now, you didn't call my name. You just said 'Oi, you'."

"Yeah, that's because I don't care," said Royce, fed up. Treeve reluctantly helped him fix up his shoulder. The stitches weren't broken, and the bleeding hadn't been serious. The infection had all but cleared, too. 

Realising how hungry he was, Royce found some salted meat in his pack, along with a chunk of hard bread and an apple.

Treeve went outside and twenty minutes later, returned with his sister. She was just as angry as Treeve at their sudden disappearance, and about having to look for them.

"Well, if you hadn't gone on your own midnight meandering, we wouldn't have had to follow your tracks," argued Royce, stubbornly, through a mouthful of bread. 

"What are you talking about?" asked Pasca.

"Our first night here. I saw you leave when you should have been on watch. We followed the path you took to the clearing. Who did you meet?"

Pasca's jaw was set, and when Royce glanced at Treeve, he saw he was not going to say anything either. Royce have a frustrated sigh.

"Fine, deny you sent some sort of message so you could arrange to meet someone in the clearing, but I know there was someone. Possibly in armour. We would have followed their tracks, too, if it hadn't been for this damned thunderstorm. We were trying to get back before you woke up, but that didn't go so well."

"No, especially since I woke up and saw you gone, and then started this storm to draw you back again," said Treeve.

"Wait, _you're_ the reason for all this fucking rain?" asked Royce, his hand itching to grab Alverstone. "For Maribor' sake, make it stop."

"You're better off asking Muriel," sighed Treeve, glancing outside at the downpour. "A storm was coming, I just accelerated its arrival. I can't make it stop."

Royce grumbled to himself, before turning back to Pasca. "So, are we about to be over-run with Ugrell's warriors, or Westerlin Knights? I'd like to know in advance, just so I know why I hate them."

"I wasn't meeting a warrior or a Knight," snapped Pasca. "For your information, asshole, I was meeting someone who might be able to help us."

"Sure. Well, the Knights may well be able to help you, since they want to take me and Hadrian off your hands. I'm sure they'll give you a nice reward for that."

"Why can't you just believe someone is actually trying to help you?" shouted Pasca.

"Because in my experience, _lady_ , no-one ever is," Royce yelled back. "That idealistic oaf lying over there is my only proof that the entire world isn't full of people exactly like me, and he seems to be the exception rather than the norm. So forgive me if I'm not an optimistic, lovey-dovey, ray of fucking sunshine, willing to give people a chance."

With that, Royce grabbed a scrap of paper from his kit, scribbled a few words on it before tucking it in Hadrian's jerkin, and saddled his horse.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" asked Pasca, incredulously, as Royce begrudgingly put his still-wet cloak on.

"I've got business to attend to, but I'll be back in four days. Look after Hadrian while I'm gone, or I swear to Novron, you won't want me to come back."

"You're not fit to go anywhere. What chance have you got it you're attacked? Surely, your shoulder must be paining you," insisted Treeve.

"Life is pain. Anyone who says differently is selling something."

And with that, Royce led his horse out into the persistent rain, mounted and spurred it forwards, leaving Pasca and Treeve with one last terrifying glare to remind them of his promise.

*

"Well, that is just brilliant," huffed Pasca, throwing her arms up in defeat as she watched the shadowy figure ride away. "So now we're on baby-sitting duty, waiting for that stuck up cryptid to decide when it suits him to return."

"Hadrian did save our lives," said Treeve, glancing over at the sleeping swordsman. "And technically, he's still healing from the wound he got protecting us, so we still owe him."

"I know," Pasca sighed, looking over at Hadrian too. "I'm not mad at him. He risked his life to save ours. I like him." Her glare returned. "It's the other one I can't take to."

"I know. Me neither. Look, we'll wait out the rest of the evening and tonight here, then if Hadrian is strong enough, continue to make our way to the border tomorrow. There's no point wasting four days here when we could be getting away from all the people chasing us."

"What about what Mr Dark-and-Mysterious said?"

Treeve considered it. He didn't really want to get on Royce's bad side now that he had almost fully recovered. 

"Well, he said to look after Hadrian, so that's what we'll do. Surely the best way to look after him will be to get him as far away as possible from the assassins, and Ugrell, who he seems to have history with."

"You're right," nodded Pasca, dragging her sopping hair back and tying it up. "We have not made anywhere near as much progress as we should have by now. If we're lucky, Héothain and that tiny woman who were killed back in Lontarch were the only ones who knew how to track Hadrian and Mr Grumpy with the magic Hadrian mentioned. Hopefully, the remaining assassins and warriors have overtaken us without realising it."

"Ok, say we get back to Avryn," said Treeve. "Crossing the border may mean nothing. The Knights have already crossed into Trent from Westerlins quite happily, and those two kingdoms are practically at war. Nothing is stopping the assassins from entering any kingdom of Avryn, and I'd rather not end up leading the trouble back to town."

"That's why I met with our special friend night before last. By the time we reach the border, he should have all the information we need. You know what Asher is like. He'll get it done quickly."

"Good," said Treeve. "I've had enough of all this running away. I thought Ugrell's place was bad, but at least we knew what to expect. Out here, we're constantly looking over our shoulder and I hate it. Every job seems to be worse than the last. One day, we're not going to make it out alive, and that days seems to be getting very close."

"Well, if you don't like this job, then go and find something else," snapped Pasca. "If you're going to whine about it, then go and be a blacksmith, or a turnip farmer. But I remember my little brother always complaining how life on a farm wasn't exciting enough."

"Alright, I'm sorry." Treeve sighed. "I'm just tired. You're right, this is much more exciting, and I wouldn't just leave it, but usually we aren't left in quite this position. In fact, never. Have you considered our options?"

"Of course. But if we try and cheat him, he's going to know pretty quickly."

"Before we get our money?"

"No, but we likely won't get the chance to spend it before the roles are reversed, and I really would rather avoid these infamous boxes. Honestly, they seem like a lot of hassle. It wouldn't be much good for our reputation, either, if we had a bounty on our heads."

Treeve laughed quietly to himself. Trust Pasca to somehow lighten the conversation. He agreed with her, though. He had just been playing Devil's advocate to make sure she was on board. It was true that they'd never had a job go this sideways before, but unusual circumstances called for a change in the rule book. And they weren't heartless, not really.

"Do you think he'll be alright?" asked Treeve, nodding his head towards the sleeping swordsman for whom they were now responsible. 

"You say his delightful friend cleaned the wound?" confirmed Pasca, to which Treeve nodded. "Then there's not much we can do except wait for him to wake up."

Pasca and Treeve both got up and sat either side of Hadrian, who was lying on a blanket in the hay. His wounded torso was wrapped tightly, and after rewetting the cloth on his forehead, Pasca leant closer to have a look at the workmanship.

"Well, as much as I can't stand him, the Hooded Horror at least knows something about medicine. His poultice should help keep the cut clean and safe while it heals. As soon as he's awake, we should get going. No point wasting any more time here."

"Maybe we should get some sleep too," suggested Treeve, even as he yawned. "We were up most of the night, and we'll need our strength if we are to protect a wounded traveller. As good as he was with that sword, I don't think he'd manage so well if he had to fend for himself in this state."

"I'll take first watch," Pasca nodded. "I'll wake you in a few hours."

*

It barely felt like Treeve had shut his eyes before Pasca was shaking his arm.

"Your turn, lazy bones," she yawned, before pushing him up so she could steal his blanket. Treeve sighed and settled against the wooden pillar in the middle of the barn where he could see out of both doors, in for a long and boring shift.

It wasn't entirely dull, though. An hour after he had taken over from Pasca, the sound of distant voices reached Treeve, drifting on the wind. He sat bolt upright, still and alert as he strained to hear more clearly. From what he could tell, it was a small group out on the road.

As quietly as he could, Treeve crept to the entrance of the barn and peered into the darkness. The occasional flicker of torches was visible through the gloom; although it had finally stopped raining, a fog still hung in the air, reducing visibility. 

Careful not to slip in the slushy snow, and mindful that sound travelled both ways, Treeve made his way closer to the road. He checked behind him and suddenly realised he was still leaving clear footprints in the snow. A quick glance around showed him the four horse tracks leading towards the barn, and Royce's set from that afternoon.

Delicately placing his hands in the air in front of him, as though warming them over a fire, Treeve began to wordlessly mouth a simple incantation and bit by bit, the remaining snow blew around into little white swirls before landing to cover all but one of the sets of tracks coming off the road. Treeve also covered up the prints he had just made, and hid behind a thicket of bushes where he had a good view of the road.

The group of people numbered four, and all of them were on horseback, ambling casually along the tree lined track. Treeve caught the gleam of armour in the torchlight, and the horned helms were instantly recognisable as Westerlin Knight uniforms. As the group got closer, Treeve was able to hear what they were saying. 

"Look, stop complaining. This is our last day riding out," said the man at the front, who seemed to be a rank above the others, if the decoration of his armour was anything to go by. 

"Yeah, shut up, Aldor," said a woman, turning to face the man at the back. "All you've done is complain the entire time."

"Well, we've found no sign of them anywhere since the cave," sighed Aldor. "They went into Lanksteer and then we lost them. Too many tracks to tell which ones were them."

"They must have come along here at some point, so keep an eye out," ordered the man in charge, and Treeve dropped lower behind the bushes. 

"What about there?" said the remaining voice, accompanied by the odd cough. "Those tracks we saw earlier, the fresh ones, they seem to join here, from that direction."

The group stopped at the turn off to the barn and the rider at the back pointed at Royce's tracks. Treeve held his breath.

"No, there's only one set that splits off here. And besides, you can see they went in a little while ago, probably yesterday, spent the night, and then rode out earlier today, in the wrong direction. That's not our guys, right?" asked the woman. 

"Yeah, we're looking for four riders, and they wouldn't have split up completely. Pairs, maybe, but not alone," pondered the leader. "Come on, we'll cover a little more ground then turn back. If they've gone into Avryn, they will be too hard to find without any way to track them. I miss Léodyn. With her following the magic trace, hunting down traitors was so much easier."

"Have you ever met Caelum?" asked Aldor, curiously. The other three replied in the negative.

"Not personally, but I know he was always trouble. Léodyn told me it was the little one of the two, the one in black, but he didn't seem much like a Knight," said the man with the cough. 

"He did look like a thief, though," pointed out the woman, and they all muttered in agreement.

They moved off again, passing Treeve's hiding place and carrying on down the trail. 

"What do you think the King will do to Caelum?" asked Aldor. "He is a Knight, after all. He's of noble blood. He's like us."

"No-one's quite like you, Aldor," sniggered the man with the cough, and Treeve heard the woman laugh. 

"Betray the King, and neither your money or your lineage is going to help you, boy. Remember that next time you think about sneaking out of the barracks."

"You know about that?" asked Aldor, sheepishly. 

"I know. I sure hope whoever you visit is worth it, because if I catch you again, you won't have to worry about the King's execution methods. I'll have finished you off myself."

"Yes, sir," Treeve heard Aldor mumbled, before they drew too far away and their voices faded along with the light of their torches.

Treeve waited a few minutes to make sure they truly were gone, and then hurried back to the barn, clearing his footsteps again in case the search party returned along the same road.

The rest of the night was quiet, Treeve hearing the faint sounds of the party retracing their steps a few hours later. They were still unconcerned by the single set of hoof marks and passed quickly on by, letting Treeve breathe a sigh of relief knowing they would not accidently bump into them tomorrow.

From what he had heard, they had a chance to get to the border before the Knights found someone who could use Hadrian as a homing beacon. They had a chance to escape.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, next update soon, hopefully. 
> 
> I appreciate the interest in the story, and as always, love any comments.
> 
> Did you spot the quote from 'The Princess Bride'?


	21. Stupid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the three set out, something is missing, but Hadrian can't quite put his finger on it... Once he realises what isn't there, he wishes it was there so he can throttle it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! So this update consists of two chapters, because else the cliff hanger at the end of this one is a little mean. You'll see...
> 
> This one's not really gonna answer any questions so much as raise more, but that's what 22 is for!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Hadrian began to stir as the morning sun, unaccompanied by the previous day's rain, crept inside the barn and over Hadrian's face, so Treeve woke his sister too, and went to judge the fitness of their third.

"Morning," he said quietly, so as not to startle Hadrian. The man groaned groggily, and shielded his eyes with an arm across his face. "How are you feeling?"

Hadrian just gave a grunt and closed his eyes again, shifting uncomfortably. Treeve noticed how dry Hadrian's face was, and pressed a cup to his lips.

"You should drink. You're still battling the fever, but you're not sweating, so you need more water. Come on, drink up. We've got a long day ahead."

Hadrian moaned again, this time sounding as though it was from pain, but he sat up with Treeve's help, and sipped from the cup until it was empty.

"What I miss?" Hadrian mumbled, his eyes still remaining stubbornly closed as he propped himself up with his arms out to brace himself.

"What do you remember?" asked Pasca, who had finished packing up the saddlebags and was passing on her way to the horses.

"Dunno. Weird stuff. I saw Ugrell, and… never mind." Hadrian shook his head and tried to stand, only to end up on his backside again when all energy fled him.

"You're still pretty ill," said Pasca. "Your cut got infected, so your currently running a fairly nasty fever. If we had the choice, we'd stay another day, but we just don't have the time."

Hadrian nodded, and Treeve left him stooped over while he helped Pasca tack up. He told her everything he had overheard from the Knights, and she hummed thoughtfully. When they brought the horses over, Hadrian had dozed off again, and they had to shake him with worrying ferocity to rouse him. 

Treeve was having serious doubts about travelling, unsure whether Hadrian would stay in the saddle long enough for them even to reach the road. But he understood their time constraints, and wished longingly of getting back to Avryn, where in his head, they would instantly be a lot safer. That was their hunting ground, and they had the advantages of bolt holes and contacts there which they currently weren't able to utilise.

Getting Hadrian into the saddle was not an easier task, but eventually they managed it, and he seemed stable enough. Pasca and Treeve mounted up and headed out to the road.

It was testament to Hadrian's failing health that it took him several minutes to realise there was something wrong. 

Treeve was riding at the back, Pasca leading the way, and he watched silently as Hadrian looked from left to right, searching for something. He twisted painfully around in his saddle and frowned at Treeve, who dipped his chin in acknowledgement, an eyebrow quirked in question. 

"There's something different," Hadrian explained, dropping back to ride beside Treeve. "Are we being followed?" 

"Not so far as I know. Why?"

"I've just got a funny feeling," Hadrian said, slowly. He put a hand on his back to check his sword was in place, then patted down his pockets. "I think I've lost something."

"What?" asked Treeve.

"I'm not sure." He tugged at a chain around his neck before tucking it safely under his shirt again, and checked his weapons belt. "Maybe it's just because I'm missing my broken bastard sword."

"Maybe," shrugged Treeve, who had no idea why Hadrian was so fidgety. Perhaps it was the fever confusing him. 

They travelled on for a few more minutes, Hadrian still obsessively checking all his belongings to try and work out what was missing. It was when Treeve heard the sad clink of an almost empty coin purse that Hadrian's hand suddenly darted out.

Yanking on Treeve's reins, Hadrian forced his horse to an abrupt stop, and there was the sound of steel being drawn.

"Whoa," cried Treeve, putting up his hands as a sword tip was pressed under his chin. Pasca forced her horse round in a tight circle, forgetting she was weaponless and rounding on Hadrian.

"What in Maribor's name are you playing at?" she demanded.

"Where's Royce?" 

Hadrian's voice had taken on a edge which left no ambiguity about his intentions. It was not a tone that Pasca or Treeve had heard from him since Hadrian had faced down Héothain while thinking Royce was dead. It was not a comforting sound.

"Easy," soothed Pasca. "Prince of Darkness left yesterday afternoon on 'business' which was apparently more important. He threatened to kill us if we let anything happen to you, so we're on our way back to the relative safety of Avryn. At least then we'll be able to find somewhere to make a real plan."

"Wait, Royce left?" repeated Hadrian, his sword hand shaking badly. Treeve gently eased it away from his throat to avoid an incident. 

"Yeah, just after you fell asleep. Not exactly the friend you seem to think he is."

"Hold on, I think he left you a note. He slipped something inside your jerkin," Treeve recalled. Hadrian sheathed his sword and rooted around in his pockets until he found a scrap of paper folded up inside one of them.

"We need to go back," said Hadrian, after scanning the note.

"Back? No, Royce told us to keep you safe, so that's exactly what we intend to do. We all want to be safe. We're fortunate not to have run into an assassin or one of Ugrell's men, but that luck won't last forever, so we need to keep going," insisted Treeve. 

"What does the note say?" asked Pasca. 

" _Go big or go home, right? I'll stick with the first one, but you should do the second. I'll join you later_."

"That hardly sounds like there's any reason to go back," pointed out Treeve. "In fact, he's actually telling you to get back to Melengar, which is exactly where we're heading."

"No. No, you don't understand - he's doing something stupid. I know he is. We need to find him." Hadrian was getting agitated and it was leading to a spiral in his health. He was incredibly pale, and his hair stuck to his forehead as sweat beaded there, even in the cold. 

Treeve had been plying Hadrian with water constantly, and knowing the man was rehydrated was something of a comfort, but his eyelids were heavy, and he looked to be having trouble staying upright. Hadrian would slowly collapse forwards, only to grimace at the pressure on his wound, and push himself upright, and so the cycle would continue. 

"How do you know he's doing something stupid?" asked Pasca, after she and Treeve shared a look. 

"Dunno how I know, but I do," murmured Hadrian, the frequency of his blinks slowing. "Know he's stupid, and he's gone to do something stupid cuz he's stupid. Stupid."

Hadrian kept muttering the word, eyes falling closed and torso slumping over once more. Treeve could tell from the hitched breaths that he was still awake, but only just. Treeve only just picked up Hadrian's next words.

"I think he's getting some of his memories back."

"That's good, isn't it?" asked Treeve, but Hadrian shook his head.

"No. No, it is very, very bad."

*

"Wait!" Pasca shouted after Hadrian as he turned his horse and started back the way they had come. 

"There's no time," insisted Hadrian. In truth, he would have liked nothing better than to carry on at the sedate pace they had been making towards Melengar, towards home, letting the gentle sway of his horse lull him into a slumber. He just wanted to get back to Medford, take Royce back to Gwen, and just sleep for a week.

But he now knew he had to turn around. He had to get back to Royce before he did something incredibly stupid, even if that meant riding towards the danger.

"You don't even know where he's gone," argued Treeve, as he and Pasca drew alongside him. 

"The note told me more than I needed to know."

"But I don't understand," said Pasca. "It just said for you to go home and he'd meet you there."

Hadrian shook his head, swallowing thickly as the action caused the world to spin briefly. "He said, 'Go big or go home.' That means something."

"What?"

"I don't know, Ok!" Hadrian snapped, regretting raising his voice as his head protested. He closed his eyes, taking a few deep breaths to stop his stomach churning. "I don't know, but it means something. I know it does… I just can't..."

Millie stumbled on a loose rock, and a spike of pain shot up Hadrian's side as he was jarred. He gasped, pulling on the reins and curling in on himself, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming. 

Everything was getting out of hand. Royce was running around the countryside with half his memories missing, and with a crossbow bolt wound in his shoulder which was still healing. He was on his way to do something stupid, but Hadrian didn't know what. They were both being chased by King's assassins due to mistaken identity, and Hadrian had no idea how to convince the Knights that Royce wasn't Sir Caelum. And to top it all, Hadrian felt like death.

Hadrian cracked open his watering eyes, and in his delirium, glanced around for Royce, knowing his friend would know what to do. He always had a plan. He was the smart one, after all. 

"Hadrian?" It wasn't Royce's voice, but Pasca's. She was looking at him with concern. "We can't keep going with you like this."

"Got to," insisted Hadrian, his breath gasping. "Got to get to Royce. Got to stop him."

"We don't even know where he's going," sighed Pasca. "All we know is he was heading north."

"Then we go north," sighed Treeve. Both Hadrian and Pasca looked at him in surprise. "Come on, let's be honest. Royce is going north, so he's obviously either heading to Westerlins, or back to Lontarch. Now, we don't know why, but where else can he be going? Pasca, let's just turn around."

"I thought you wanted to get to the border?" frowned Pasca.

"I do. But even when Hadrian passes out, which can't be far off now, think about what's going to happen when he wakes up. He'd kill us if we took him home instead of going after Royce."

"Do I have to remind you that The Delightful Ray of Sunshine also threatened to kill us if we didn't take care of Hadrian?"

Hadrian vaguely registered surprise at Royce's protectiveness, especially since Royce thought they'd only just met. Perhaps Royce remembered more of the last eight years than Hadrian had realised.

Then it hit him.

Barely capable of stringing his words together now, Hadrian waved a hand frantically to get Pasca and Treeve's attention, unwilling to shout again and aggravate his growing headache. 

"I know what he's planning," he breathed.

"Say again," said Treeve, shaking his head when he didn't catch Hadrian's words.

"I know what he's planning. The note, _go big or go home_ , everything. I know what he's going to do, and I was right. It's really, really stupid."

"How do you know?"

"He's quoting me to me. I said the exact same words to him when we were in the woods, and I think it must have somehow triggered some of his memories. Trust me, I know where he's going, and I know what stupid thing he's about to do."

"What? What memories did it dredge up?"

Hadrian almost explained, until he realised how extremely illegal Royce's actions had been the first time. He wasn't going to accidently admit the crimes which Royce had taken so much effort to cover up.

Instead, he waved away Treeve's question, willing himself to keep talking so he could convince the others that he was in his right mind, despite the fact he wasn't. "Doesn't matter. We just need to get there before him. You'll understand soon enough."

"Get _where_ before him? Hadrian, where are we going?" demanded Pasca.

Hadrian sighed, dread already settling heavily in his chest. He turned to Pasca. 

"Lontarch."

*

The return trip was much quicker than their escape. Although Hadrian was almost completely out of it for most of the time, they kept the pace swift, passing through Lanksteer half way through the second day. 

By this point, pain was a constant companion to Hadrian, as was nausea, although he wasn't sure if that was from the fever or from his fear. Not only were they heading back to his least favourite town in the world, Hadrian couldn't help picturing any number of awful things which could have befallen Royce. His fever-induced nightmares had only made his imaginings more vivid.

The thief would have been a full day's ride ahead of them, and that wasn't accounting for any short cuts he was able to find on the way. There was no way they would get to Lontarch before him, but hopefully they would be in time to interrupt his idiotic plans. 

"Hadrian, we need to stop," came Pasca's voice from behind him.

"Can't stop," slurred Hadrian. "We'll stop when we get to Lontarch and find Royce."

"You've been riding all morning, you hardly ate and you've barely slept. If you don't stop, you're going to pass out in a minute, and then you'll be no use to anyone."

"We keep going," insisted Hadrian, teeth clenched in pain which only made him look more threatening. "It doesn't matter that I can't ride much longer."

"Why on Maribor's name not?"

Hadrian pointed in front of him at the snowy hill in the distance. "Because we're here."

As they approached the keep, Hadrian noticed the increase in activity around the gate. The hillside as also bustling as guards moved this way and that, along with villagers from the houses surrounding the fort.

Everyone was so busy that almost no-one noticed the three riders approaching, and those who did barely spared them a second glance.

Dismounting with difficulty as the world swayed, Hadrian watched the activity from the gate for several moments, before plucking someone out of the crowd and dragging him over.

"What in- wait, it's you." The younger of the two guards who had been guarding the gate on the day Hadrian and Royce had infiltrated the fort stared at him, a flicker of fear in his eye if Hadrian was not mistaken. He angrily brushed Hadrian's hand off his arm and straightened his uniform. "What madness had brought you back here? This is the last place you should want to be."

"What's going on?" demanded Hadrian, gesturing to the chaos around them with the hand that wasn't tightly gripping his saddle in order to keep himself upright. 

"Look, I haven't got anything against you personally, I just do my job. So take my advice and get out of here. At the moment, no-one is paying you enough attention to recognise you as one of his Lordship's prisoners." The guard glanced around Hadrian and corrected himself. "Three of his Lordship's prisoners. That really isn't a priority at this precise moment, so I suggest you take advantage of that and get out of here while you still can. You might be untouchable, Galenti, but the same can't be said for your friends."

"Listen-" Hadrian paused, realising he didn't know the guard's name. The man sighed.

"The name's Hagan, but you didn't hear any of this from me."

"Listen, Hagan. We'll go, but first you need to answer my questions. I am really not in the mood for riddles. What happened here? Why is everyone so panicked, and why do you say I am untouchable?"

"If I tell you, will you leave?"

"Sure," said Hadrian, although he still needed to ask if Hagan had seen Royce. 

"Alright. It's probably easier to show you."

Pasca and Treeve dismounted and stood beside Hadrian as Hagan pointed into the town. The forty foot statue of Ugrell was clearly visible over the heads of the townsfolk, and next to him, Hadrian heard Treeve gasp and Pasca curse. 

Hadrian said nothing, because he saw exactly what he had been dreading.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it, all comments gladly received. Check out the next chapter, too!


	22. Plague

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Royce heads north to put his plan into action. He may not have all his memories back yet, but the ones he does have are more than enough to get him into trouble...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the second of two chapters in today's update, so make sure you've checked out Chapter 21: "Stupid" before reading this one.
> 
> This is following Royce during the time covered in the last chapter, so they kind of run side by side which is why they're out together.
> 
> Hope you like it!

Unburdened by weighty camping equipment or whining travel companions, Royce made a lot of ground, travelling through the night. He was able to reach the cave near Lanksteer before the sun had risen, and he made base there, spending the day asleep in preparation for a busy night. 

Hadrian's words had been whirling around in Royce's head since their misadventures in the woods. Although, he didn't recall his motives, memories of the 'massacre', as Hadrian had dramatically termed it, had slowly came back to him. While he had ignored this during their attempt to find shelter and on the way back to the barn, once Hadrian was settled and safe, Royce had allowed himself time to go over these newly returned memories, and things became a little clearer.

It had taken his argument with Pasca for Royce to come up with the idea he was about to execute. It would be risky, certainly, but that was not going to put Royce off. He had spent the journey planning how he would do it, and was confident he could pull it off. 

He had bought the few things he would need in Lanksteer, purchasing everything in different shops to make himself harder to track. Now, as darkness fell, Royce readied his horse and set off again, barely visible as he merged into the blackness around him.

The guards on the gate were not a problem, as he had expected. With only one gate into the town, Royce was able to tie his horse around the other side of the hill and climb over the wooden wall at the back of the fort. His shoulder protested stubbornly but he was able to put most of the work onto his other three limbs.

Once inside the town, there was a little more security, but a few quick diversionary tactics soon solved that problem. The guard who had been circling the fort diverted off to take a closer look at the loud clatter of falling weaponry from outside the blacksmith's, which gave Royce plenty of time to put on a makeshift set of hand claws and begin his scaling of the tower. 

It was nothing compared to the height of The Crown Tower, and the wood made it easier for Royce to drive the claws in to find a good grip, so he was up in no time. Climbing between the merlons at the top, Royce easily unlocked the door, and made his way silently inside, tucking the claws away in his bag as he went.

Royce spent a little time watching the guard patterns from a window and then scouting around the interior of the fort. Apparently, Ugrell was unaware of his security breach, and wasn't used to unwanted visitors, as there were no guards inside the fort. The only security Royce could spot consisted of the two guards at the gate, the one on patrol around the town whom he had tricked earlier, and two more posted permanently outside the main door.

Usually, Royce would have been unsettled by the lack of guard presence, especially since Ugrell had just suffered a break out. However, Royce was well aware that arrogance was a powerful comforter, and often led to under-guarded strongholds. Having met Ugrell, Royce was confident that this situation was no different.

His confidence would lessen considerably before sunrise.

Once he had surveyed the entire property, Royce took his pick of servants and snuck into the room of a man who seemed about his size. Luckily, the household staff did not share the massive build of their master and his bodyguards, and Royce was able to find a regular sized uniform. 

Royce had left his cloak and hood on his saddle, so it was easy enough to slip the red jerkin over the top of his tunic. Once he was suitably disguised with a cap and tray, he took to the corridors once more. 

During his game of hide-and-seek with the guards on his last visit, Royce hadn't stumbled across anything that looked like it might have been the warlord's bedroom. He did have some idea, since he knew where not to look, but it took about forty minutes to find the private wing. 

The entrance was hidden in an alcove, and the quarters were sequestered in the very centre of the fort, no windows or roof lines to give it away. With all the winding and switchback passages in the place, it was hard to keep track of dimensions, and it was only through experience that Royce was able to work out where there was unaccounted-for space. 

Pressing around the alcove, Royce finally found the lever which opened the secret door. Taking a last glance around, he slipped inside, tray in one hand and cloth in the other.

Beyond the alcove, the space opened up into a large salon, comfortable sofas the size of four poster beds, and a bed the size of a small house. A few lonely candles burned around the place which illuminated the huge shape asleep on the bed. Taking a deep breath, Royce got ready to put his plan into action.

"My Lord!" he cried, putting on a terrified, high pitch voice which would have sent Hadrian into fits of laughter. "My Lord, wake up!"

A loud creaking accompanied the sudden movement of Ugrell, who gabbed a large mace from above the head board and swung off the bed.

"Who do you think you are?" demanded Ugrell, his arms bulging as he held the mace above his head.

"My greatest apologies, sire," squeaked Royce, bowing deeply. He didn't think Ugrell would recognise him, having only briefly looked at him before throwing him in the dungeon, but he still took the precaution of letting his hair fall forwards to cover his face a little, and pulling down his hat. "Your Lordship has always made it clear you should not be disturbed, but this is a matter of the utmost urgency, sire."

"An invasion?" ventured Ugrell, already pulling on his armour. "Why have they sent you and not one of my guards?"

"N-n-no, your Lordship. It's not an invasion, sire. At least not of people."

"Get to the point, boy," boomed Ugrell, mistaking Royce's height for youth. 

"My Lord, a great illness is spreading quickly through the town. Already it has infiltrated the fort. Your guards are overtaken by it. It is no longer safe here."

"An illness? A plague?" 

Yes, sire, gods spare us. It spreads quickly, and has been fatal twice already, your Lordship. I am here to get you out safely."

"Those damned Westerlins, it has to be," snarled Ugrell, and Royce latched onto the idea. 

"Yes, indeed, sire. I have seen this ill before, in my own village. I was one of only a handful to survive after a Westerlin assassin passed through and brought with him the disease. We must be quick, before you too are infected."

Ugrell buckled his weapons belt and sat on the bed for a moment, thinking. Royce was glad his fear could be taken as unease over the plague, and not the terror of being decapitated by this giant if his deception was uncovered.

"How did you survive?" questioned Ugrell, his eyes narrowed.

"My mother was a healer, and she made me drink a special tea of her own making," said Royce, indicating the cup on the tray he still carried. "It can ward off the plague for a few days, until you are somewhere safe. I only got the illness mildly, which has given me a protection against it now."

Royce held out the tray towards Ugrell, but the man didn't move.

"Please, sire. We must get out of here quickly," urged Royce.

"You should know I do not eat or drink anything that has not been tested for me," snapped the warlord, getting to his feet and towering over Royce, whose knees trembled. Apparently, Ugrell was smarter, or perhaps just more paranoid, than he looked.

"P-please, your Lordship, I meant no offence, I meant no offence," squeaked Royce. "I only had the herbs to make this small batch, and no time to think of fetching your testers. Would you rather I tried it?"

"No," said Ugrell, waving a massive hand of dismissal. "Forget the tea, poisoned or otherwise. Let us get out of here before this wretched plague finds its way to me."

Royce nodded with trepidation. "Yes, my Lord. Here, take this and hold it over your nose to avoid breathing in the plague. Quickly, now, sire."

Royce held up the cloth and Ugrell snatched it, quickly placing it over his face as he stomped after his 'saviour'. Royce hurriedly led the way down the servants steps, telling Ugrell they were less used so less diseased. In truth, it was the only path Royce knew well to get them downstairs, having avoided the main stairs on his intelligence gathering trips.

Running ahead of Ugrell as they neared the main doors, Royce opened them and grabbed the two guards.

"What do you think you're doing?" one demanded. 

"There's a plague outbreak in the town. Lock down the fort, and lock yourselves inside too. Orders from his Lordship," jabbered Royce, pointing to the approaching warlord. "I have experience with this particular disease, and I know somewhere safe to take his Lordship until it passes."

"You should take some guards with you, my Lord," insisted the second guard. 

"The guards are infected already. Lock down the servants quarters. You two, keep the peace here. Don't go near the guards or you'll be infected too," ordered Ugrell, and the two guards hastily obeyed, locking themselves inside the fort. Royce stalled for a moment, glancing around and counting in his head, before leading the warlord forward. Timing was imperative.

"We can send Plague doctors from Lanksteer, my Lord. There are a few who helped my village last time. They can control the outbreak."

"We will go to Lanksteer," Ugrell announced, unsteady as he walked beside Royce. "To the stables. Fetch me my horse."

"At once, sire," bowed Royce. "But you must keep the cloth over your nose to keep out disease. It would not do for your Lordship to come down with a commoner's plague."

"Quite right," nodded Ugrell, stumbling again. Royce led him over to the base of his statue and leant the warlord against the plinth.

"Stay here, my Lord, and I will fetch your horse," said Royce, letting go of Ugrell's arm and watching him slump against his stone effigy. Turing away and grinning, Royce headed around the side of the fort, to the stables, and into the path of the patrolling guard.

"Oi, what are you doing out here?" the stocky guard demanded, drawing his sword.

"I fancied a stroll in the moonlight," said Royce calmly, dropping the squeaky servant's voice and settling for his own menacing, sarcastic tones. "What do you think I'm going? I'm on an errand for his Lordship."

"What sort of errand?" sneered the guard, coming to a halt ten feet from Royce and crossing his arms, sword still gripped tightly.

"That sort of errand," said Royce, pointing over the shoulder of the guard.

The guard instinctively turned to look behind him, and in an instant Royce was on him, pulling his dagger, jumping on the man's back and slitting his throat in one fluid motion.

Royce jumped clear as the guard made a gurgling noise and then slumped to the floor with a heavy thud. A quick check of the area confirmed no-one had seen anything, and Royce cleaned Alverstone before hurrying back to where he had left Ugrell.

The warlord was still slumped against the statue exactly where Royce had left him, but now his eyes were closed. The cloth was still draped over Ugrell's face and Royce left it there, doubting a few more minutes of the strong chemical could do the giant much harm. Besides, long term effects weren't going to be an issue.

Royce ran down the hill like a shadow, the guards at the gate not expecting danger from behind them as they stood together on one side of the entranceway, staring out into the blackness from the relative comfort that the warm circle of firelight provided.

The hand claws were unnecessary for the short climb up the wooden wall, and Royce perched on top of it between two spikes so he could reach into his satchel.

The wizard had taught him several useful tricks during his education, including some he had not even realised he was teaching. Royce had paid closer attention than Arcadius knew, and hence had picked up things he probably shouldn't have. Old habits were hard to break, even if this time all he had stolen was knowledge. 

The small glass bottle of black powder didn't look like much, but it proved its worth when Royce reached over and dropped it into the fire. The glass smashed and the guards had about a second to look into the brazier before there was a burst of sparks and a thick cloud of dark smoke. The force of the muted explosion threw the two men back, Royce having taken shelter behind the wall as soon as he had dropped the bottle. 

He peered over the top of the wall now to ensure the second part of the experiment was working, and sure enough, the guards sat up, only to sway uneasily and collapse onto their backs again, the smoke trailing its way into their noses and mouths.

Careful not to inhale any of the noxious cloud himself, Royce jumped to the ground and hurried back up the hill. 

Although it was the same compound, the substance Royce had used on Ugrell was less potent than the powder he'd thrown in the fire. It had taken longer to kick in, but that had allowed Royce to get Ugrell out of the fort under his own steam. There would have been no way Royce could have dragged the enormous man down two flights of stairs and out of the front door without being immediately killed. 

Now that he was alone and the warlord was unconscious, Royce could get to work.

Hooking the rope around the statue's outstretched arm, Royce tied a loop around Ugrell's wrist and began hoisting him, pulling until Ugrell was propped up on his feet against the statue's leg. Another pulley tugged the other arm, and Royce worked tirelessly until the warlord was suspended off the ground, restrained to his own monument. More ropes around his legs and neck, and a tight gag, and Royce stood back to admire his canvas as he waited from Ugrell to come round.

Rolling his eyes at his own forgetfulness, Royce rummaged around in his bag again and fished out some candles, which he positioned artistically all over the statue and plinth. He was a little worried someone might see them, but figured that at that moment, the fort would be in chaos, and no-one would be taking much interest in a couple of candles any time soon.

Ugrell was beginning to stir, so Royce double-checked the gag was tight enough, and then hopped down onto the snowy ground in front of the statue.

"Hey, how's it going?" asked Royce, Alverstone glowing dangerously in the moonlight to welcome Ugrell back to consciousness. "Sorry I ran off last time I was here, but I hope to make it up to you. Do you recognise me? Grunt once for yes, twice for no."

Ugrell tugged at his restraints furiously, desperately trying to free himself, but the pattern of rope meant that anytime Ugrell pulled on the restraints at his wrist, the loop around his neck tightened, which soon discouraged him from trying to escape. Ugrell growled, a deep, guttural noise like some enormous bear.

"You _do_ remember me? I'm flattered." Royce put a hand to his chest, his smile alone enough to put the fear into the warlord's eyes as he approached his victim. "I'm sorry for the gag, but it is necessary. On any other occasion, your screams would complete the evening for me, but tonight, I'd rather not wake up half the village. You see, there isn't really an illness. The only plague is you. Oh, that reminds me. You may be a little confused as to where you are right now. After all, I did drug that cloth you held over your face. Vigilant with the food and drink, but clueless when it comes to inhaling poisons. Well, lesson learnt, right?"

Presumably, the noises Ugrell made from behind gag were rude statements, perhaps questioning the legitimacy of Royce's parentage, or threatening him with increasingly gory executions. But whatever he was saying came out only as disgruntled muttering, and Royce expertly ignored him.

"Look up," Royce whispered in his ear. The warlord raised his head, unwillingly exposing his throat, and stared upwards at the forty foot lump of granite carved into his likeness. "This is where you die."

*

Royce worked steadily and logically, and while he worked, he talked.

"You may be able to guess, but this isn't my first time pulling off something like this. The last four men who pissed me off were in Medford. You heard of Medford? Maybe not, it's nothing special, but I knew some people who lived there. I won't go into details, it's a long story, but the moral is; those four men who were found on those statues, mutilated, bodies sliced up, blood everywhere? They all made choices. And those choices hurt some acquaintances. I didn't entirely hate those acquaintances, which is a big thing for me. So when I found out that these four men had hurt my acquaintances, you can imagine I wasn't all that pleased about it.

"And then, these men turned up horribly disfigured and murdered. What a coincidence! -and you can't prove it was anything else. However, current events do seem to suggest I may have had something to do with that massacre."

Royce could hear the stifled screams and roars of pain through the fabric in Ugrell's mouth, but it was not loud enough to draw attention to them, so he continued, moving to Ugrell's other hand. He took a moment to look into Ugrell's eyes, and cherished the fear there, the intoxicating horror which held Ugrell in its clutches. But there was also utter confusion, especially as to why Royce was telling him this story.

"I'll get to the point of my visit," said Royce darkly. "You caught me, tortured me, and chained me up to a wall. Now, don't get me wrong-" Royce paused to clean his blade on Ugrell's fur jerkin before getting back to work. "-I took that personally. I mean, there was no other way I was going to take it. The whole debacle with me almost choking and having to stand on a box. That was humiliating."

Ugrell looked even more lost now, a frown of confusion distinguishable even within the lines of pain contorting his face. Royce knew he must be wondering if all this was just because Royce had had to stand on a box whilst chained up.

"But no, the reason this is happening to you tonight is much the same reason those four men in Medford found themselves strung up by candlelight, their blood decorating the statues. Although, I am speculating here, since there's nothing to prove it was me."

Royce gave a wicked laugh, and Ugrell actually shuddered, although it could have been from the fact Royce had just finished cutting off the warlord's fingers.

"Galenti." Royce watched as Ugrell's eyes shot to meet his. Royce nodded. "Yeah. Galenti. I know him as Hadrian, and he's an acquaintance of mine, too. So imagine my surprise when I find out my acquaintance is scared shitless of you. Because you kept him locked up like a dog, only brought out to win your fights. Did you know, he hated you so much that even the thought of you meant he couldn't step inside the town gates? Did you know that? But he stormed this place to find me, and he got caught again, and had to go through the same hell you put him through the last time.

"Have you ever been that scared?" asked Royce. He thought he knew the answer, judging by the expression on Ugrell's face, and how hard he was trying to get free. "I think you're starting to understand. Good."

Royce took his time, and when he had finished, he removed the fabric from Ugrell's lax jaw, making visible the full horror of Ugrell's empty face, blood running down pale, waxen cheeks. The fur cloak was drenched in blood, as though it had just been torn from the dead animal and thrown over Ugrell's corpse. 

Candles still burning, casting a flickering light over the scene, Royce took out paper and wrote a short note, better thought out than the messages he had left on his previous victims.

Using Ugrell's dagger, Royce pinned the note to the warlord's chest, then collected his belongings and made for the back of the fort.

He turned the corner, and it only took a split second, but Royce's afore mentioned confidence drained away.

Four well-trained, heavily armed, metal clad Knights on horseback can do that to a five-and-a-half foot mir with a single dagger and no back up.

"Hello," said the leader.

"Fuck," said Royce.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here's hoping you enjoyed it. Let me know what you thought in the comments.
> 
> Could be a couple of weeks until the next one.


End file.
